


Out of the Ashes

by Pdxtrent



Series: The Consequences of Destruction [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But it's what season Five gave us, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Dealing with the Dread Doctors in a way that makes sense, Derek Hale has such a big brother vibe, Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, Funerals, Gen, M/M, Minor Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura, Minor Mason Hewitt/Brett Talbot, Mourning, Moving On, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, Peter Hale uses honestly like a weapon, Seriously season Five canon is garbage, The Desert Wolf is a garbage idea, also I hate the Argents, i hate the Dread Doctor storyline, seriously it’s so dumb, yes even THAT one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:00:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28453506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pdxtrent/pseuds/Pdxtrent
Summary: In the aftermath of the sheriff and Scott’s deaths, the Pack has to pull together to defeat two deadly threats plus betrayal from a trusted ally.And in the shadows, the Desert Wolf gets closer to her goal.(It doesn’t require you to read part one, but it’s pretty good I think, so you should give it a try. Plus it’s already finished.)
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski/Jackson Whittemore
Series: The Consequences of Destruction [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949968
Comments: 227
Kudos: 133





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wam6996](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wam6996/gifts).



Stiles opened his eyes when he heard his alarm and for a moment he expected to hear his father’s voice in the hallway, like a thousand mornings before him, before memory kicked in and he remembered his father would never again tell him to get up and not roll back over and go to sleep. His heart ached. He closed his eyes, and willed time to stop just for a moment, then wished it could go backwards, though he knew that even in a world of werewolves, kanima, and dread doctors there was no time travel. 

He opened his eyes back up and reached for his phone, thinking about the events of the last week. He and Peter had met Derek in northern Arizona, as they'd planned. And Robert Hale had proven slightly more pleasant than Stiles had expected, possibly helped along by bearing more than a passing resemblance to Derek, though with darker eyes, and less eyebrow game.

They'd been in Jerome for a few days, and he had been sitting outside with Derek and Peter at night when he felt a strange tension building in the air. 

"What is that?" Stiles said, looking around.

"Something's wrong," Derek replied tersely.

Stiles pulled out the bag of mountain ash he'd taken to carrying in his pocket, ready to break it open if he needed to. Suddenly Peter sat up and his eyes burned blue and the shift rippled through his body as he tilted his head back and howled. As the sound echoed in the night his eyes burned brighter and the color shifted to first lavender then the red of the alpha power, then he jumped up and fled into the night.

"The fuck?" Stiles said, unsure what it meant, and Derek turned to him, his face full of sadness. "Should you go after him?"

"No," he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Stiles. It was Scott," he said softly, "Who died. It was Scott." 

"No," Stiles breathed. "No. It's a mistake." 

"It’s not," Derek said. "I felt-" he nodded, "It was like Laura. Like my mom, my pack. It's not a feeling you can mistake."

Tears trickled down Stiles' face. "How?"

"I don't know. There's no way to know. Maybe these Dread Doctors?"

"Fuck!" Stiles said, as the weight of more death settled into place. "Why wasn't I there?" 

"Stiles-"

Stiles' phone rang and he pulled it out, a familiar picture on the screen. "Jockson," he said as he answered it.

"What happened?" Jackson demanded.

"I don't know yet. I'm in Arizona with Derek and Peter. I think Scott was still in Beacon Hills." 

"That was Scott?" Jackson said, "Jesus, it felt like someone had cut a hole in my heart."

"Yeah, Derek said it was-" he paused, then said haltingly, "unmistakable."

"Okay. I'm going to get on a plane, I'll be there as soon as I can." 

"You got out," Stiles said. "You've got a life there." 

"Fuck you Stilinski," Jackson said heatedly, "There's no way I'm letting you deal with all this bullshit on your own. I already had a ticket to be back for your dad's funeral, I'll just move the date up." 

"Be careful, Jackson," Stiles said softly, "I'm almost starting to think you care." 

"Don't be stupid, Stiles," Jackson said, "I look good in black." 

"You look good in snakeskin too, you should get custom shoes." 

"I look good in everything, and fuck you." 

"You're not my type," Stiles snapped back.

"I'm everyone's type."

"Ass," Stiles said, feeling better with the familiar patter between them.

"Dick," Jackson said back, sounding fond, "I'm hanging up and calling the airport. I expect you to pick me up. I suppose I should tell my parents I'm coming home." 

"It'll give them time to get out of town."

"They've gotten used to the werewolf thing by now."

"And the lizard tail dripping venom?"

"We don't talk about that much," Jackson said.

"Too bad. It's your best look." 

"I hate you so much."

"Lie. I complete you."

"Like I said, everyone's type."

"Hanging up now," Stiles said, laughing through his tears as he hit end call.

"That'll be good," Derek said, stepping closer. "For you. I know you've talked since the nogitsune."

"Yeah," Stiles said. "He gets it you know? Like, yeah, Jackson's a dick, but being used to murder-" He looked at Derek, who nodded.

"I understand it too," he said, looking into the night.

"Should you go after him?" Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head. "He's an alpha now. I couldn't keep up. And I think you need someone here more than he does. Peter just needs to get used to being an alpha again. He'll be okay, he has his anchor now, it won't be like before."

"What is his anchor?"

"I have no idea," Derek said. "It's rude to ask."

"I mean, I know yours is anger."

"Not in awhile," Derek said in the darkness.

"Well that's good," Stiles said. "It always seemed like a bad one."

"It's a terrible one," Derek said with a nod, "But after Laura, it was all I had left."

Fresh in his own grief Stiles was struck with the realization of exactly how alone Derek had been back then. How badly they'd all failed at understanding each other. 

"I know Scott wasn't my friend anymore, but-"

"But you've been like brothers for a very long time," Derek finished. "I understand that, I really do. That's what pack is like."

Stiles had asked Scott once what pack meant to him, and Scott had tried to explain it as if it was a weird new limb he'd grown, with senses and sensation he didn't really understand, and that hadn't appealed to Stiles much. But this was a description he could understand.

"What do I say when someone calls?" 

"Pretend like you don't know anything," Derek said simply. "It's easier." They had fallen into silence after that, until Peter had returned an hour later. Stiles periodically broke the silence with bits of memories about Scott, and of his dad, the twin griefs winding together.

No one called until the next day, and he was surprised when it was Rafe. After confirming that Stiles was still in northern Arizona, the special agent delivered the news, and Stiles had acted shocked, the memory of the loss still fresh. McCall said that Scott's body had been recovered from the Preserve, shot with arrows and cut in half.

"Gerard?" Stiles had let slip out in surprise.

"You recognize this?"

"Gerard Argent killed like that," Stiles said. "Scott saw him cut an omega in half once. And he did that to Laura Hale too." 

"I thought that was an animal attack," McCall said. 

"No, it was-" he hesitated, "it was complicated. The werewolf who killed her died later, after killing Kate Argent."

"Well that's a hell of a motive." 

"God, there's so much more to it." He hesitated, "We're going to head back later today or tomorrow. Derek is still waiting for some information his uncle is trying to get for him, then we'll hit the road. I'll ask Lydia to stop by and explain the whole Argent-Hale thing to you. She knows most of it, and I can fill in the holes when I get back."

"Or I could just ask your friend Peter, if he's coming back with you." 

"Yeah, though I'm more likely to tell you what you want to know than he is," Stiles said.

"That fills me with terror," McCall said.

"Yeah, probably," Stiles admitted. "How are you doing?"

The phone was silent for awhile, before Rafe said quietly, "No one should outlive their own kid." 

The grief in his voice was controlled but obvious, and Stiles wondered if he'd completely misjudged the man.

"I should go," Rafe added, "Mel isn't doing well, and I just stepped out to call you." 

"Thank you," Stiles said simply.

After a moment’s hesitation he called Melissa, unsure what to say to her when he and Scott’s friendship had ended the way it had, but she had been there for him after his father’s death, and he would be there for her now. They spent almost an hour on the phone, and the conversation left him feeling even more raw and wounded than before he called.

After that was Lydia, who had gotten a more honest conversation, though he didn’t tell her where Scott’s alpha power had gone, even when she admitted that Liam had witnessed Scott’s death, and had confirmed that it was Gerard.

They'd arrived back in Beacon Hills late the night before. Melissa and Rafe had decided to have Scott's funeral the day after his dad's. Jackson's flight was due to arrive at eleven, and before that Lydia was planning to come over and touch base. 

The grief was a strange thing, sometimes he'd be so caught up in grief for his father he forgot Scott was dead, and sometimes he'd go minutes at a time thinking they were both alive. Everything was heavy and it felt like walking through the ocean with a vise around his heart. And except for those few days in Jerome while Derek and Peter had worked with Robert to get the information on Malia's mother, he'd had no time to actually mourn his losses. 

With his death, the falling out with Scott had receded to an afterthought, lost in the complexity of their near brotherhood. 

Stiles slid out of his bed and headed for the shower. He knew Derek was likely awake downstairs. He'd opted to stay at the Stilinski house instead of the loft, and Stiles suspected it was to avoid the inevitable memories the loft must hold for him. 

He showered and got dressed, then made his way downstairs, and was surprised to find Derek was still asleep. He was so used to Derek's hypervigilance waking him up with the slightest sound that he was shocked to see something he thought of as a basic part of the man had changed.

He made his way to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Lydia had stopped by the day before and left some basics in there, and he pulled out bacon and eggs and started to make some breakfast, pausing only to start the coffeemaker. He knew werewolf appetites, and went ahead and started to fry up all the bacon and eggs. 

A few minutes later Derek made his way into the kitchen, his hair a mess and looking far more approachable than usual. 

"This is a good look Hale," Stiles said with a smirk.

"Of course you're a morning person," Derek almost growled.

"Ah there's the Big Bad I was missing," Stiles said as he turned his attention back to breakfast. "I didn't ask, do you drink coffee?" 

"It doesn't do anything for werewolves," Derek said. 

"Some people like the taste." 

"No one likes the taste," Derek said, "It tastes like burnt dirt. Just admit you're an addict and get it over with." 

"Rude. So what do you like?" 

"Do you have any tea?"

"Yeah. Still in the cupboard over there," Stiles said gesturing.

Derek made his way to the cupboard and opened it, "These look like the same boxes of tea from when I was hiding out in your bedroom," he said after a moment.

"Unsurprising since they are the same boxes from when you were hiding out," Stiles replied. 

Derek sighed and pulled a bag out of one of the boxes and shoved it in a cup and filled it with water before putting it in the microwave.

"I'm surprised my alarm didn't wake you up," Stiles said. "I remember back then everything did." 

Derek nodded. "It changed while I evolved. While I was human technically." 

"You never did explain that." 

"Part of what I've been looking for," Derek admitted. "An explanation."

"Have you found one?"

"A lot of theories," Derek said, as the microwave beeped and he pulled the tea out. "I've talked with some alphas. Old packs, some old friends of my mom, some old friends of Satomi. Even some emissaries, though they were less helpful. The full shift is rare, and no beta has done it before that anyone can find a record of. They all agree it's probably because I had been an alpha, and that I gave my power up the way I did." 

"Lost the alpha, but got the full shift?" Stiles said, "that's not a totally bad deal. You hated being an alpha." 

Derek nodded after a moment, "I did." 

"But you had to werewolf Jesus to do it?" 

Derek snorted. "No. They're different things. Almost dying kickstarted my healing. The evolution seems to have been a result of what Kate did I think." 

"No, I refuse to think something good came from Kate Argent. I'm going to go with the idea that it was the magical rocks of La Iglesia that did it." 

"That's possible too," Derek said. "That's a place of old magic, old power. A convergence site like Beacon Hills." 

"So you'd have come back to life here too?" 

"Maybe," Derek said. "Peter did." 

"But that was like werewolf necromancy." 

"It was. But it wouldn't have worked without that kind of old magic here." 

A thought struck Stiles like lightning. "Holy fuck," he said, "That's it. That's what the Dread Doctors are doing here. It's not just for the frequency, it's for the reality warping effect of the convergence." 

"Impossible things can happen here," Derek said, looking thoughtful. "It's something my mom used to say."

"Are there any books or anything on the subject?"

Derek shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe. We had a library in the house, but it burned with everything else, except a few things that were in the vault, but that was mostly pack history."

"Maybe Satomi has something." 

Derek was silent for a moment, then finally said, "There is another pack. They're out in the hills beyond the Preserve. I never met any of them, but I ran across their scent a time or two." 

"Maybe we can ask Satomi about them as well." 

"Maybe." 

"I'll also add a few more watch terms on ebay as well."

"Ebay, Stiles," Derek said in a familiar tone of voice.

"Ebay, Derek," Stiles said with a grin. "People sell all kinds of things. There's more than twenty books on werewolves and druids upstairs. Two bestiaries I paid too much for since they're less useful than the Argent one."

Derek snorted and took a sip of his tea. 

"I've done the best I could with what I could find," Stiles said, irritated.

"That wasn't really directed at you, more at Deaton who I know has a full arcane library." 

"Wait he does?" 

"He's an old established druid Stiles. Don't let that middle aged man vibe fool you, he's probably in his second century at least." 

"Holy fuck," Stiles said. 

"Also, Braedan might have some resources," Derek supplied the name almost shyly.

"Aww, look at you all settled and domestic," Stiles said grinning at the man.

"It's not like that."

"Sure Big Bad, keep telling yourself that." 

"We just seem to fit together."

"Derek, that's pretty much the sign that it's worth the effort to keep the relationship going."

"You and Malia?" 

"Not really going to work out," Stiles said. "I've known for a while, and I think she's guessed it too. We work together well, we understand each other, but the places we don't fit, yeah, those are pretty significant places. Plus-" he hesitated, "I think I'm a little more gay than I always thought. Not like full on 'no girls allowed' gay, but yeah, that's been a thing." 

"Is there someone else?" 

"Sort of?" Stiles said, uncomfortable with admitting it, but trusting Derek's ability to keep things to himself.

"Jackson?" Derek said.

"Oh god, is it that obvious?"

"It is to people who know you probably, you're not very subtle," Derek paused, "Though they'd have to hear you talk to him to figure it out. It's when I did." 

"You're a lot more perceptive than I give you credit for," Stiles said, blushing.

"You're not subtle, remember?" Derek said. "And I know you pretty well by now." 

Stiles had a thought, "You know, with Scott, you know, not." He hesitated, "You and Lydia are probably my best friends."

Derek was quiet for a long moment. "I don't trust very many people. You. Cora. Braedan. A couple of people from New York. That's probably the list. So I guess you're just about my best friend too." 

Stiles felt a deep affection for the werewolf that even a year before he'd never have imagined, and would have found laughable when they first met. He piled the last of the eggs onto plates and handed one heaped with eggs and bacon to Derek, and took the second one for himself and they sat down to eat.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated and keep me motivated.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek had gone upstairs to shower, and he was just putting the last of the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher when Lydia knocked on the door and then entered without waiting for a response. 

She looked exhausted. 

"Please tell me there's coffee," she said, walking into the kitchen. He poured her a cup and handed her the sugar he knew she preferred. 

"Still not sleeping?" he asked.

"No," she said, "I keep feeling the urge to scream. Even before Scott." She fell silent again. They'd talked over the last few days, but not in detail. "Liam was there," she finally said. "He saw Gerard. Not Chris, but Gerard said Chris gave him the cure." 

A burning flared into life in Stiles’ gut at the confirmation that Gerard was involved. "I thought McCall said he was in San Francisco with Chris." 

"That's what he said, and Chris confirmed," Lydia said. 

Stiles added two names to the mental list he kept of known enemies. 

"I know you haven't really trusted him since the thing with Kate," Lydia said.

"No," Stiles said, "and finding out from Peter that Scott knew where Chris had stashed the murderous old bastard sort of pissed me off more." 

"Chris stopped by the house yesterday," Lydia continued, "He said Gerard wasn't involved with Scott's death, but he cracked slightly when I told him there was a witness. He wanted to know who." 

"You didn't tell him did you?" 

"Of course not," she said, flipping her hair behind her ear. "I'm not an idiot." 

"The pack is still in danger though," Stiles said, "Everyone is. Kira, Malia, Liam, and you. Chris may have known I was gone. That was pretty well known, so I'm probably safe." He tightened his lips. "Probably Derek is in danger too. No one knows for sure where he was, and Gerard probably still blames both Derek and Peter for Kate." 

"McCall has a team here from the FBI now," Lydia said. "There's several missing persons, and the death of your dad, they couldn't ignore it." 

Stiles nodded. "I know they think Theo is a person of interest in dad's death," he said. "What's their idea on the missing people." 

"Currently the rumor is that they think it's human trafficking, and your dad found something out," she said. "McCall doesn't seem to have told anyone about the recording." 

Stiles nodded. "It's hard to hide the supernatural on it, but I also don't think he feels any particular need to keep it hidden either." 

"I think I need to tell my mom," Lydia said, "She's been monitoring my attendance the last week or so very carefully."

"The whole two classes you're still enrolled in," he said with a snort, "Is she worried you won't get a 4.5 GPA or something?" 

"I think it's more that she's starting to worry about my involvement with Parrish," she said simply.

"Why Lydia Martin, is there an involvement with that fine deputy I should know about." 

Lydia gave him a short mock glare, "Not exactly," she said, "but I keep having these dreams." 

Stiles laughed a little, and it felt good after the last few days, "Lydia, I've seen the man, I certainly understand those dreams." 

"Dreams of him carrying dead bodies to the nemeton?" she said. "Dreams of him setting a city's worth of corpses on fire around the tree?" 

Stiles' face lost its smile, "No, not those kinds of dreams," he said faintly. "But it's Beacon Hills, I should have expected it." He closed his eyes. "Anyone in particular?" he asked.

"It changes," she said. "I see your dad there. Theo. For the last couple of days before I saw Scott as well. I didn't think they were precognitive." 

"They might not have been, it might just have been fear putting faces into your dreams," he said. 

"I'm dreaming of death, Stiles, and I'm a herald of death." 

"Yes, a herald. You announce death, you don't predict it," he said.

"And if I said I've dreamt your face?" 

"Have you?" 

"Not yet,” she said, "but you see why I'm worrying." 

"Yeah," he said, "But you said there's already a lot of bodies." 

"Anyone you recognize?" 

"There are faces I recognize. Wait," she said. "Do you remember that girl from economics last year? She had the hat she wore obsessively, and sat by Isaac?"

Stiles thought, "Yeah, she kept trying to get Coach to actually talk about economics. It was weird." 

"Her, I see her." 

Stiles thought about where his yearbook was, "Hold on," he said, and ran up the stairs, grabbing it from the stack next to his bookcase where he'd shifted non-supernatural books to make room on the shelf and coming back down.

"If you'd waited," Lydia said, "I would have told you, her name is Dawn Fulton." 

Stiles dropped the yearbook on the table and sighed, "And?" he asked.

"I asked McCall, he says her parents reported her missing just before school started." 

"So this has been going on longer," Stiles said. He thinks for a moment then asks Lydia, "How long have you been feeling like this?" 

"Off and on for a few months," she said. "I thought it was just a banshee thing, like static, or maybe I was sensing deaths not connected to the supernatural." 

"I think you are," Stiles said. "But ones that are being hidden from you." 

"You think the currents can do that?" 

"I think the Dread Doctors know how to manipulate the currents to do that," Stiles said and pursed his lips. "I remember dad mentioning a spike in missing persons, but no bodies had turned up, and he thought it might just be statistics." 

"But now you don't?" 

"No," Stiles said, "I think there's more experiments, failed ones. That we don't know about." 

His phone beeped, and he looked at the time, "I need to get going, Jackson's flight gets here in forty minutes. Are you coming?" 

"Of course," she said, "we can talk in the car." 

*****

While he would never admit it, Stiles really thought Jackson looked good. Calmer, and less defensive. When he saw Stiles and Lydia he smiled, and yeah he still had that slightly cocky grin, but that did do something to him. He needed to get a grip, this was not the time to hurtle headlong into whatever he and Jackson had going on. First there was Malia, and second, Jackson lived in London, and Stiles didn’t think he was ready to change his passport.

They got Jackson's bags in the 4Runner, and Lydia and Jackson had a snarkfest about shotgun, and how Jackson thought that was ever going somewhere besides him losing, Stiles had no idea. 

"I should have known you'd have forty tons of luggage," Stiles said. "How long are you staying for?" 

"Until I decide to head back," Jackson said. "And if you thought I was taking the chance that anywhere in this hellhole would stock my skincare line, you're clearly too stupid to be driving." 

"You're a werewolf," Stiles said, "You literally have perfect regeneration!" 

"Yeah, but who wants dry scaly skin, right Jackson?" Lydia said.

"Oh it's for the lizard part!" Stiles picked up. "I forgot." 

Stiles drove while Lydia filled Jackson in on everything, interjecting periodically when he knew more than she did on a subject. 

"So is Peter still crazy?" Jackson finally asked, and Lydia turned to Stiles, who shrugged. 

"Define crazy,” he said. "Does he live by typical human morals and standards? No, not even close. Outside of the few people he cares about he's honestly undependable and deeply dangerous. But how much of that is Peter being a werewolf and how much is Peter being a part time sociopath I'm not sure." 

"That's not exactly comforting,” Jackson said. 

"It's not supposed to be. Look, he isn't feral like he was when we first met him either. He's loyal to those he sees as his pack at least, and he seems to view Lydia and I as, if not pack, then pack adjacent. He's helped us when he didn't have to. I trust he isn't our enemy." 

"Has he said anything since he became an alpha again that we should be worried about?" Lydia asked. 

"No," Stiles said, "Though he also hasn't been super forthcoming about anything. It's Peter, he likes to talk and he sort of hasn't been, which is making me nervous." 

"What does Derek say?" Jackson asked.

"Not much," Stiles said. "He admitted last night that he does feel a pull towards Peter, since he's a Hale alpha, but he's not sure if he wants to be in his pack. He still doesn't really trust him, or know if he can, and he won't be in a pack he can't trust." 

"What's he been doing?" Lydia said.

"Sneaking around," Stiles said. "He's up to something, I'm just not sure what. He's ignored the couple of texts I sent him." 

They kept talking for a while longer, debating the what ifs of Peter Hale, when suddenly both Lydia and Stiles' phones beeped with an incoming text. 

"What is it?" Stiles asked Lydia.

"Peter, actually," Lydia said, "Asking everyone to come to your house this evening." 

Stiles snorted. "Typical." 

"Actually, it's really smart," Lydia said. "It's a neutral ground. Malia and Kira and especially Liam would probably refuse to go to Peter's but your house is someplace they'll be comfortable." 

"It is a good strategy," Jackson agreed, "especially with how things have been going here lately." 

"How much have you and Stiles been talking?" Lydia asked, clearly putting things together. 

"Usually at least once a week," Jackson said, "so I know all about you and the hellhound deputy."

"There's nothing to know," Lydia said looking ahead. 

"That's not what I hear,” Jackson teased, "There seems to be a tension." 

"Stiles doesn't know anything about tension," Lydia said without turning back. 

"Oh, I think he understands tension just fine," Jackson said, and Stiles looked in the mirror where he could see Jackson smirking at him, and wondered what the irritating former kanima had figured out. 

*****

"Thank you for coming," Peter said in a tone that was slightly less than his normal level of condescending, and Stiles snorted. 

"And of course, thanks to Stiles for hosting us," Peter said with a glimmer in his eye. 

"It was a pleasant surprise,” Stiles said, "Since I wasn't consulted."

"It was either here or Derek's loft, and I thought perhaps the negative associations with that place might be best to avoid. Besides, it smelled slightly of chimera, so this seemed the best choice." 

"Why exactly are we here?" Lydia asked, though Stiles suspected she already had it figured out if he did.

Peter looked at her and grinned slightly, before tilting his head in acknowledgement. 

"The king is dead," he said, then flashed his ruby eyes, "long live the king." 

Malia flashed her own eyes, the tilt of her head made it not quite a challenge, and her claws showed just slightly. 

"I'm not going to pretend to be sad,” Peter said. "I think it's surprising you've all survived this long. Scott managed to drive off Isaac, who was pathetically loyal to anyone who showed him the slightest kindness, and has offended allies like Satomi by being unwilling to deal with deadly dangers like Deucalion." He looked at Stiles. "And even managed to lose the kind of blind loyalty I would kill to protect." 

The complex roil of emotions the words kicked up sunk into his stomach, and Stiles tried to push it away to deal with it later. Grief and anger had no place tonight, though Peter was clearly trying to stir them all up.

"We need a plan quickly to deal with both, and there's not a lot of time to put one together," Peter said, looking around. "The Dread Doctors are getting close to whatever their goal is, I suspect the full moon is what they're waiting for since they've tipped their hand so much. My not particularly dear Corinne is, if not in town, then very very close. Something seems to have upset her plans, but she will regroup, so we have little time to waste there as well." 

He continued, taking his time to look at each person directly for a moment, enough to address, but not enough to be a challenge, "Not everyone here will want to be in a pack with me. That's reasonable. I've already talked to Satomi about anyone who isn't comfortable with me, and to inform her there's a new alpha in town. But either way, we have both the Dread Doctors and the Desert Wolf to deal with. That hasn't changed. The decision you need to make is if you want to be involved, and if you want to be in this pack. No tricks, no hidden agenda."

Malia snorted, and Peter looked at her. 

"I'll lay my cards on the table. You're all too powerful, too valuable to lose. I may not have liked or respected Scott McCall, but the Pack he attracted is remarkable." He looked around, "You all know it's not really in my nature to do things openly. But I suspect there's too little trust for me here to do things in my usual way. So, against my inclinations, we'll do this in the open, cards on the table. You don't have to make any decision tonight, I will say what I have to say, and then leave so you can talk it out and decide for yourselves." 

He started with Malia, as Stiles had suspected he would. Never let it be said that Peter lacked courage. 

"Daughter," he said, "I don't have all the memories around your birth so I don't truly know if you were intended, or why Corinne changed her mind about you. But you are mine, flesh of my flesh, and Pack or not I won't let her destroy you, and I know your friends feel the same way. She won't stop, so she must be stopped. You decide what you want to do, but I will stand beside you if you'll have me." 

Stiles felt the weight of those words hit him. This steel resolve and hard words were what he'd always seen lurking under the surface of Peter Hale, but he hadn't thought about what it would mean in truth. 

Malia shifted slightly, looking away. 

"Whatever you decide,” Peter said, and finally put his hand out lightly, letting it rest on her shoulder for only a moment before letting it drop and moving onto Kira, his eyes flashing barely red for a moment, before he paused, looking at Kira, "What is going on with your fox-spirit?" he said in actual surprise. 

"What do you mean?" she asked him, more than a hint of atypical defiance and suspicion in her stance and voice.

"It's furious," he said, the red bleeding more fully into his eyes, "Enraged. Out of sync with your body, it's quite alarming." 

"Scott checked it when I thought something was wrong,” she said, looking around, "He said it was fine." 

Derek was looking her way, and Stiles couldn't see his eyes, but he could imagine the burning blue color, "There's no way he missed it if he looked,” Derek said, "there's no way to miss that something's wrong." 

"A fox is a proud creature, and easily enraged," Peter said. "What does your mother say?"

"Very little that's helpful,” Kira muttered, "But she keeps saying a fox is not a wolf." 

"They're not," Peter added. "And it is enraging your fox spirit to try to treat it as one. You can't be in a wolf pack without infuriating it. If you were a bitten wolf I'd say you need to get in touch with your wolf side, that you're out of sync, and in danger of going feral. But I don't know what technique a fox would use. If your mother isn't helpful, maybe she knows someone who has been in a similar situation. Other foxes have been close to packs before, so the situation has likely happened before." 

"You're a fox and not a wolf, be proud of what you are,” Derek said intently, as Peter nodded along. 

"You're a trickster by nature.” Peter added, “Be what you are. The pride of the fox and the loyalty of the wolf don't always rest easily together unless you are mindful of your own nature." Peter added, "It will not bow to an alpha, or follow their lead easily." 

"So I'm out?" Kira said, and it was the first time Stiles had ever heard her sound bitter.

"No. There's always a place for you here,” Peter answered. "Today, tomorrow, always. You're not a wolf though, and it's hurting you to act like one. Come here and be proud to be a fox." Something in Stiles eased at those words. The casual acceptance of what Kira was, not needing to try to be anything but what she was to be accepted. He wasn't an idiot, he knew this was about his feelings about himself, about what he'd become since the nogitsune had shattered his soul and remade it.

He hesitated to step closer to Lydia the way he had Kira, and Stiles was impressed that he chose to give her that extra space.

"You and I can work together," Lydia said, before he opened his mouth, "But I'll never forget what you did to me. Ever." 

Peter nodded, "Thank you," he said. "I would apologize, but I suspect you'd appreciate my honesty more than my apology." 

She nodded once and he stepped away, and stepped toward Liam. 

"We need to start out with the basics of control with you," he said. "It's been months and you're not any more in control than you were in Mexico. Something isn't working for you and we need to figure out what, and how to work around it. Besides, there's a supermoon coming when even a strongly anchored wolf will be feeling the pull more intensely, we need a plan to contain you that night." 

"Mountain ash?” Stiles said, and Peter shuddered.

"Only as a last resort," Peter said, looking at him, "It feels—“ he shuddered again, "like a prison you can't escape." 

Stiles thought back to Peter's long coma and his time in Eichen, and wondered which had been worse minute for minute.

"And you and I need to talk to Morrell," Peter added, looking at Stiles. "You're not temperamentally suited to being an emissary, but there are other tools of the druids and emissaries you might find very useful. If Deaton isn't going to train your abilities, she likely will." 

"What do you mean not suited?" Stiles said, stung by the man's words.

"You're a creature of the Pack, not a dispassionate observer,” Peter said, "Marin can control her impulses to get involved most of the time, but you, never." He shook his head, "You should have taken the Bite when I offered it, you'd have been a magnificent wolf. But it's too late now." 

"What do you mean, too late?" Lydia said, and Stiles' heart froze, knowing his secret was about to come out in the worst way. 

"Stiles?" Peter said, "Have you really been trying to keep this a secret from your Pack?" 

Malia growled softly, looking at her father like she'd really like to go for his throat.

"There hasn't really been time,” Stiles said, trying to skirt the truth. 

"Well now there is," Peter said simply. "And you will need to talk to Noshiko as well. That's a meeting I won't be able to attend," he looked at Kira, "Wolves and foxes, after all." 

"What's he talking about?" Malia asked bluntly, and Stiles flinched. 

"Use your eyes,” Peter said simply, and Stiles was suddenly the subject of five pairs of glowing eyes, all staring at him, Peter fortunately didn't flash the red eyes his way. 

"What is that?" Liam said, "It's like a shadow." 

Stiles closed his eyes, waiting for the judgement to fall.

"It's like a kitsune," Derek said, "Very young. Barely there." 

"Why doesn't he look like Kira then?" Malia asked.

"That's an interesting question," Peter said. "I suspect there is only so much even so old a fox could do with the natural shape of Stiles' soul. But I'm not an expert I'll admit." 

"But it looks like a bird," Liam said. 

"A raven," Lydia said, unable to see it, but puzzling something together with pure logic. "It would be a raven." 

"Where there are wolves there are ravens," Peter said. 

Stiles felt naked in a way he hadn't since Allison's death, soul flayed open and raw. He'd feared the shadow on his soul, feared the fox he thought was at the door. This unsettled him, since it was unexpected. 

"I thought it was a nogitsune," he said.

"I assumed that's what you feared,” Peter said. "And I thought you might not trust just my word on the subject."

"So you were ashamed?" Liam said, and Stiles nodded.

"I guess," he said, "with everything else, it was just—“ he shook his head, "too much I guess."

"That's stupid," Malia said looking at him, "as long as you don't try to kill us you're always my pack." 

Peter turned to Jackson, who had ended up between Derek and Stiles on the couch.

"You I barely know,” Peter said, "But Stiles speaks insultingly of you, in the way he has, and Derek says there's far more to you than you've ever let yourself be." 

Derek shifted closer to his once-beta, arms crossed defensively, and so clearly a shield for Jackson it both lifted and broke Stiles' heart a bit, already open and raw as it was. How different would things have been if Jackson had stayed? It was a question without an answer, though Stiles thought it wasn't the last time he'd consider it. 

"There's a place for you here,” he said looking at the beta. "In the Pack, in the city. If you want it. On your own merits as well as for those here who care for you." 

Jackson nodded once, the old icy facade in place, and Stiles wondered if even Lydia who knew him best could see beneath it.

"Nephew,” he said, looking at Derek last. "I don't think there's anything new to say between us." 

"No," Derek said, looking at his uncle. "There isn't." 

"Well, nothing besides this," Peter said, shifting closer to Derek, "They all trust you, and it's a trust you've earned. I suspect I only have this,” and he flashed his red eyes, "Because you rejected it so completely. Wherever you lead, they'll follow, so decide for yourself and for them." He gave Derek a long look, and then stepped quickly away and turned as the impact of his words crossed Derek's face. The man looked around the room and it reminded Stiles of the look in the pool, when Derek sank beneath the water, fearing himself betrayed again. 

Stiles had the urge to stab Peter all over again. He had yoked Derek to him in the cruelest way possible, with the truth and Derek's need to protect. The result was inevitable. Derek would stay, whether he truly wanted to or not, and Peter was right, the rest would all follow Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello! 
> 
> I’m glad to be back in this story, as delightful as Love and Monsters was to write (god I loved that ending:-)
> 
> The outline for Ashes is really complicated, and please don’t try to match up the timeline to canon, since there’s some big issues with the way they match up. My theory is that Noah’s death has a bigger effect than you’d expect. /handwavium/  
> Anyway, the next chapters are already being worked on (chapter 4 has a section... god I can’t wait) and should be here soon. 
> 
> Enjoy, and comments and kudos are truly appreciated, and feel free to hit me up with questions, I’ve got a lot of headcanon that won’t make it into the story.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter left without any further conversation, just a nod and a last look around the loose circle. As soon as he was gone, Stiles turned towards Derek, but the man was already heading for the garage, which meant he wanted some space to get control again. He put his hand on Jackson's arm instead, to get his attention.

"Should we give him a moment of space?" Stiles asked when the once-kanima looked at him.

"He's been a lone wolf for a long time, long enough." Jackson said, "And Peter is right, I go where he leads." 

They followed Derek out to the garage and found him staring at his hand, claws out, and Stiles wondered if he was re-experiencing Boyd's death, or if it was some other trauma he was seeing. Jackson unselfconsciously put himself into Derek's space, touching the man bodily in a way that was profoundly physical, and it struck Stiles how rarely he'd ever seen anyone touch Derek. The man looked up, his eyes haunted and Stiles stepped closer. 

"He was right about one thing," Stiles said. "We are yours to decide, and I have no problem if you decide the best decision is to go and let the Dread Doctors and Argents kill each other." 

An expression creased Derek's mouth that if he didn't know better he might think was a smile. 

"I'm serious," Stiles said, "I don't speak for everyone, but we don't owe this town anything. All it's done is take and take. Fuck them." 

"I'm with Stiles," Jackson said, "I have a nice apartment in London. We can go and escape this hellmouth." 

"What about everyone else?" Derek said.

"Noshiko and Ken have only stayed for Kira. If she agreed to go, they'd already be gone," Stiles said. "And Lydia could drop this farce of a senior year and just graduate, she has more than enough credits, she only stayed for the rest of us." He ticked off the names on his hand, "Liam could switch to Roosevelt, and Malia would leave in a minute if we all did." 

"We have a choice, and we choose you," Jackson said, "don't stay here for us." 

"I wish I could quit," Derek said. 

"There's no one in that room that would judge you if you did," Jackson answered. 

Derek just shook his head. 

"Would you stay if we were staying?" Stiles said.

"Yes." 

"Would you leave if we were all leaving?" 

Derek was silent for a minute and then nodded. 

"Then the decision is made," Stiles said. "And if you stay I think we're all staying." 

"I don't want to get anyone killed again," Derek said, clenching his hand tight until the claws dug into his hand, and blood started to well out. 

"We're making our own decisions," Jackson said, grabbing the man's clenched and bleeding fist. "There's no one here who isn't aware of the risks. It's likely some of us will die. But if we stay we're making that choice. Trust our choice." 

The subtle way Jackson's comment reinforced Boyd's last words made Stiles wonder if someone had told him about them. It wasn't Stiles. It had felt too deeply personal to share casually, but there had been other witnesses.

"What do we do about Peter?" Stiles said, trying to switch topics. 

"I can't trust him," Derek admitted. 

"I don't really trust him either," Stiles said, "but I'm willing to give him a chance." He hesitated, gathering his thoughts, "Peter wants this. Badly. Wants to be alpha, and no one else does." 

"I would do it," Jackson said. 

"Terrifying thought," Stiles said almost habitually, and then smiled at his old adversary to take out the sting. 

"But not right away," Jackson conceded. "I'd probably be just as shit at it as McCall." 

"I can't do it," Derek said. "It almost broke me the first time. I think if I tried again it would."

Stiles nodded. "But have you considered that his desire is both a carrot and stick? He knows the pack he's getting, he knew exactly how to play that room. He knows us. Will he try to manipulate us? Almost certainly. He's already doing it. But we've killed him once, and we know enough now to make sure the second time will be much more final." 

"I'm sure he'll have a backup plan," Derek said tiredly.

"Maybe, but that's a problem for another day," Stiles said. "The thing about a leash is it goes both directions." 

Derek gave him a tired smile and a slight roll of his eyes. 

"Why all the dog jokes?" Jackson said.

"There's only one lizard around here buddy," Stiles said, "the dog jokes are more universal. Let's go talk it out with everyone now." 

A while later, when they'd reached the 'nothing new was being brought up' phase of talking about things, Stiles phone rang. He realized it was after eight in the evening and it was probably time to end things anyway, a point he made as he answered Agent McCall's call and asked him to hold on a moment, and told everyone they'd reconvene tomorrow to talk it out some more and they should just go home.

"Sorry," Stiles said into the phone. "Busy night." 

"Stiles, I wanted to give you a heads up, Val Clark encountered something very very disturbing on a call to a telcom substation, and now we've lost contact with her." The agent sounded tired and sad. And Stiles wondered at his still being at the station this late. Acting sheriffs didn’t usually put in the extra hours unless they planned to make the position permanent. He wondered if it was a way to bottle up the grief the way his dad had, with too much work, and the occasional crash into a bottle.

"Did she say what was happening?" Stiles demanded.

"No, she seems to be actively avoiding telling us what she saw, and then she cut out," McCall said, "so I'm guessing it was something supernatural."

"Do you want me to meet you there?" Stiles asked. 

"I'm not equipped for supernaturals, and Parrish is out on another call," McCall said. 

"I've got some wolfsbane bullets here," Stiles said, "I'll bring them. And maybe a furry friend or two as backup." 

"Thank you," McCall said as he gave the address. 

"Furry?" Jackson said as he hung up.

"I didn't say four-footed this time," Stiles said, "And you get all offended whenever I call you a lizard." 

"I'm warm blooded even in kanima form," Jackson said, "So not a lizard." 

"Okay Godzilla, are you coming?" 

"The other option is to let you go alone, of course I'm coming, you'll just end up dead if I don't." 

"I've survived this long," Stiles muttered.

"You died twice your junior year," Jackson said in a pissy tone, "forgive me if my faith in your survival ability is pretty limited." 

"Such an ass." 

"I knew you admired it," Jackson said smugly as he pulled on a pair of sneakers.

"Derek?" Stiles said, ignoring the comment.

"Contrary to Jackson’s opinion, he’s not everyone’s type,” Derek said, “No matter how much of a perfect ass he is.” 

****

When they got to the substation, the first thing he noticed was the deputy's cruiser with the door pulled off right behind a Beacon Hills Telcom truck with its lights on pointed right at the door. He looked around as he got out, but he didn't see Val anywhere.

"Blood," Jackson said as he got out, and Derek nodded, his face taking on that tight tense look that Stiles knew meant it was a lot of it.

"Let's wait for McCall," he said, "these places are monitored and the recordings are off-site. If the feed is running I don't want to be all over it." 

Derek and Jackson split up, prowling each direction in a coordinated fashion, and Stiles once again regretted Jackson ever leaving town. 

"Derek," Jackson said after a moment, and Stiles realized they'd been looking for a trail. "What is that smell?" Jackson said when the former alpha joined him. "Under the blood, it's faint, but sweet." 

"Nothing good, I'm sure," Derek said. "But it's strong enough to track." He turned back to Stiles, and looked unsure.

"Go," Stiles said, "I've got my bat, and I can probably play keep away around the cars and trees long enough for you guys to get back here and save my ass." 

Jackson gave him a long look before following Derek into the night, just as headlights swept across the clearing and the Beacon County Sheriff's truck Rafe had been driving the last time he'd seen the man pulled up.

"I thought you were bringing guards," McCall said stiffly, "I wouldn't have let you out here if I knew you were coming alone." The man looked grief-stricken and worn, even under the forgiving light. 

"Relax Agent," Stiles said, "Cujo and Godzilla are out there trying to track down whatever this thing is." 

"Godzilla?" McCall said. 

"The kanima from last year." Stiles said, "Jackson got here this afternoon." 

"Kanima," McCall said with a shake of the head, "This town really is a Jonah level of bad luck isn't it?" 

"Well look at you with the good references Special Agent!" Stiles said. "So what do we have?" 

"We're not sure," McCall said. "I tried getting the video feeds sent over, but they won't be able to get them for me until tomorrow morning when the tech guy gets in." 

"Super helpful," Stiles said with a sigh. "Okay, so the call came in and Val responded." 

"It was a routine wellness check on the tech," McCall said. "They'd sent him out to check on a silent alarm, they figured it was likely just rats since there's been a problem with them at this substation lately." 

"If I'm not mistaken the wastewater tunnels are almost right underneath here," Stiles said, “and we're very very close to one of the danger zones on my map, where the ley lines and telluric currents cross each other.” 

"I'm not sure what that means," McCall said. 

"Nothing good," Stiles answered. "But if Beacon Hills is a hellmouth, this is one of the places I'd expect hellspawn to pop out on the regular." 

"I've heard of both, but not together." McCall said. 

"That's because there aren't many places where the two coincide," Stiles said. "They tend to be supernatural hot zones at the best of times, but this one is turned up to a ten at the moment." He thought for a moment, "Honestly, it might even be an eleven." 

"Why?" McCall asked as they got to the cruiser and he stopped to look in and check it out. 

"Lydia explained the sacrifice we made to find dad and Melissa last year right?" 

"Yeah, to find a nemeton," McCall said, standing back up and walking again.

"Not an ordinary nemeton," Stiles said as they got near the telcom truck. "This one sits on the mother of all convergence sites. More than a dozen significant ley lines, and a major upwelling of telluric tides. Someone had depowered it at some point nearly a decade ago, and really cleverly too. They even cut down the tree to keep it from calling anything new to the area. Like A-plus level attempt to stabilize it." 

"And something happened?" McCall said, as he pulled the key out of the truck's ignition and put it back with a slight frown. 

"It's Beacon Hills," Stiles said. "Someone died on the tree. A sacrifice, though unintentionally. Just enough to wake the stupid thing up a bit. And then, well, there's a lot of backstory there, but a druid bartered with the tree and struck a deal to wake it back up, in a overly complicated plan for revenge." Stiles thought for a moment and said, "It really was, now that I think of it." he shook his head. "Too many moving parts. Revenge should be fast and silent." 

"Like Theo?" McCall said.

"I thought you all had decided Theo had fled the state," Stiles said, ready for that trap.

"That's the official story," McCall said, looking at him, "but unofficially I am pretty sure he hasn't gone so far." 

"Really," Stiles said. "Just a gut instinct or is there some evidence?" 

"No evidence," McCall said. "A phone call was made to his phone from a burner bought at a convenience store where the surveillance cameras were conveniently not working. No one has seen him since, and his phone hasn’t pinged a tower since that night." 

"Convenient," Stiles said as they got to the door of the substation.

"Blood," McCall said, pointing. 

Stiles looked at it closer trying to interpret the drag marks in the blood, "Was she being pulled back?" 

"He," The Special Agent said, "This blood is too old to be Vals." 

"Thank god," Stiles said. 

"Don't thank anyone yet," McCall said, "I think this is going to get bad quickly." 

"It's always getting bad quickly," Stiles said, "Eventually I hear you get numb to it." 

"Have you?" 

"I'm still here aren't I?" Stiles said. 

"Does that make you numb or not in your book?" 

"It makes me furious," Stiles said, in a moment of honesty. "Absolutely blindingly furious." 

"So not numb yet," McCall said. 

"Definitely not," Stiles said, and turned when he heard a shout from the woods. 

"You still use a Glock 9mm right?" Stiles said handing over the clip of wolfsbane laced bullets he'd pilfered from Kate Argent's car in the confusion after her death. “I hope so, those are the bullets I grabbed.” 

McCall nodded, and palmed them, taking his gun out of his holster and sliding it in. 

"Once more unto the breach," Stiles said and they set off for the sound of Jackson's shout.

McCall’s light caught Jackson's form on the edge of one of the clefts that ran through this part of the Preserve. 

"Is it her?" McCall shouted, and Jackson turned and nodded.

"She's hurt badly," he said harshly, and McCall pulled out his phone and dialed dispatch, asking for an ambulance and backup. 

Stiles got closer to the edge, and could see Derek down below on the ledge where Val had fallen. The ledge had saved her life.

Her uniform jacket and shirt were half ripped away on one side, and deep gashes oozed heavy streams of blood. 

"What was it?" Stiles demanded of Derek.

"She just said a monster," Derek said, shaking his head. "I don't think it's a werewolf. It's nothing I recognize the scent of."

"Werewolf," Val said looking at Stiles, drowsy but coherent, "Is that what all of this has been about?" 

"Only some of it," Stiles said to her, kneeling on the edge of the cliff to get closer. "There's a lot more. If Derek shifts, can you tell us if it was something that looked like him? He's not dangerous, I swear." 

She nodded slightly, wincing. Stiles looked at Derek, who shifted without comment, the moonlight shining on his face as his features rearranged themselves into the form he almost recognized better than the man's more human one. 

"Where do the eyebrows go?" Val said looking at him, unafraid but clearly puzzled.

"I've never gotten a good answer," Stiles replied, "Is that what it looked like?" 

"No, it didn't look anything like him. It was a monster. Huge, dark like a shadow, faster than anything that large should be." She winced as she shifted slightly. "Fuck." 

Derek's shifted face turned to Stiles. "Her heartbeat is starting to get weaker."

"Val, can you hang on just a few more minutes for the ambulance?" 

"I'm trying," she said faintly. 

An idea hit Stiles and he turned to Derek, "I know you kept some of your alpha mojo, does that extend to—” he hesitated, “can a former alpha give the Bite?" 

"It's not exactly something with a huge sample size," Derek said, shaking his head, "I don't know." 

Stiles looked at Val, her face growing paler as the moon rose higher. "It's your choice. He can try to give you the Bite, and make you like him. None of us know if it'll work, and if it does, it's super fucking complicated and more dangerous than a cop’s life." 

"I don't want to die," she choked out, "So try." 

Derek leaned forward, hesitantly, and said in a calming voice Stiles had never heard from him, "This will hurt a bit." 

"It already hurts a lot," she said. "Do it." 

Derek bit down slowly, his teeth sinking into her chest between her heart and her throat. A moment later he drew back. 

"How long does it take?" Stiles asked, looking at Jackson. 

"I felt something in minutes," Jackson said. 

"Scott didn't even notice until the next day," Stiles said. 

"I knew what to expect," Jackson said, "I was paying attention." 

Derek was staring at the deputy intently. "Her heart’s not getting any weaker," he said. 

In the distance Stiles could hear the ambulance coming. "Finally," he muttered and Jackson rolled his eyes. Derek was still watching Val with a laser focus. 

"I'm going to go meet the paramedics," McCall said. "You might want to shift back," he said to Derek, "And wipe the blood off your mouth so no one gets any ideas." 

"Val's going to need a leave of absence." Stiles half-shouted at the man as he walked away, "she'll need some time to get used to this." 

"I think it's taking," Derek said. "I can hear—” he hesitated, "it's getting stronger again. Her heart." Val's eyes half opened a bit then she closed them again.

"Keep talking," she said drowsily. 

And Derek did. He didn't say anything earth shattering, but he talked about the shift, and what it was like to run under the moon. He hesitated for a moment and then told her about the full shift. About what it was like to run on four legs for hours, the joy of it. 

He glanced at Jackson, who clearly understood the effort Derek was putting out for the deputy and stepped closer, pulling Stiles into him skirting the line of comfort and something more, as they listened to the sirens get closer, and to Derek talk about the pull of the moon and the joy of running in the heart of a pack. It was a balm to what had been breaking in him for over a year, and he remembered the wonder and the excitement of those first few days of Scott's transformation. Before the terror had set in. Before Peter and the Argents and everything that came after. 

\-------

Once the ambulance and the backup arrived, McCall sent Derek with Val to the hospital, and sent Stiles and Jackson home.

"Whatever it is, it's gone for now," he said, "The deputies and I can take care of the crime scene. Parrish is here, and has wolfsbane, and so do I."

"That description, I'm not sure wolfsbane will work," Stiles admitted. "Don't depend on it. Though Jordan's stronger than any werewolf, so he's probably a safer bet for this anyway." He shifted in his seat, "Keep me in the loop?" 

"Stop by the station tomorrow," McCall said, “I'll show you what we've got, and we should have surveillance by then." 

"Where is the tech’s body though?" Stiles said half to himself.

"It could have been out of sight in there somewhere," McCall said. "We didn't go all the way to the back. Go home. We'll have some answers tomorrow." 

"Is this what the Doctors have been trying to raise?" Parrish said from behind him, and Stiles shrugged. "It didn't sound like anything I've heard of. It sounded more like—” Stiles froze, and looked at Jackson, "I need to go check something," he said. 

"What is it?" McCall said.

"A line from an old book," Stiles said. "I think I remember something about ‘wrapped in shadows like flame,’ but I might not be remembering it correctly. I read it years ago." 

"Nine am?" McCall said looking at Stiles, "The conference room?" 

"It's recorded," Stiles said. "Use dad's office just in case." 

McCall nodded, and Jordan clapped him on the shoulder before following the agent. 

"That's the deputy?" Jackson said. 

"That's him," Stiles said, watching Jordan's ass walk away. 

"I'm hotter," Jackson said. 

Stiles laughed slightly, and turned to the former kanima, "But he's almost as pretty as you are." 

"He's too nice," Jackson said dismissively. "That aw shucks routine will get old." 

"He's a hellhound who can melt through cast iron and mountain ash," Stiles said, "and seems completely unaware that he is hot like burning, which I suspect is part of the appeal for her." 

"You seemed to be looking as well," Jackson said as they settled into the 4Runner.

"That ass is a work of art," Stiles said, "It would be a shame to not show it the proper reverence. Though you're right, the guileless thing doesn't do it for me." 

"You're ridiculous," Jackson said, relaxing into the seat. 

"Thanks for coming tonight," Stiles said, shifting topics to something safer.

"Lydia would yell at me if I let you get killed," Jackson said. 

"True," Stiles said, "And when she yells now she can melt your brain." 

"Can she really?" 

"I think she could if she tried," Stiles said. "There's almost no information about banshees I can find. But what I can find says their voices are both a warning and a weapon." 

They talk all the way back to the house, and Stiles heart gutters again a little when he pulls into the driveway next to his Jeep, and remembers his dad won't be coming home again. It hits in waves, at moments he's not expecting it, and sometimes at moments like this when he is. Different from his mom's passing, but just as hard. 

He pushes open the front door and they head inside, Jackson heads for the bathroom on the main floor to clean up and Stiles climbs the stairs to the one across the hall from his room. Once he's cleaned up and has shed the dirty clothes he pulls on sleep pants and a faded t-shirt, stretched out and comfortable, then grabs the first of the heavy books he wanted to check. 

He couldn't remember what the line was exactly, but he thought it was a reference to the Beast of Gevaudan. It was from sophomore year, when learning about the Argents had been a priority. 

"Something is always a priority," he muttered. 

"Talking to yourself?" Jackson said, coming in the door.

"My mom died of frontotemporal dementia," Stiles said as he skimmed through pages, "So let's skip the senility jokes." 

"I remember," Jackson said, "What are we looking for?" He grabbed one of the books and flipped through it. "What is this?" 

"That one is a bestiary, but not a particularly good one. Check it for anything on the Beast of Gevaudan or the Argents though." 

It took awhile, since it was in one of the books Stiles actually used fairly often, just not that part anymore.

"Here it is," Stiles said, " '...the witness reported la Bete as a huge black beast, walking on two legs, looking like a shadow given life, like flames of night. And its eyes burned like two blue flames.' "

"The Beast," Lydia said unexpectedly from the doorway. "That's what she meant." 

Stiles and Jackson both turned, and Stiles saw the look of shock in Jackson's face that he'd missed the sounds of Lydia's arrival. Stiles made a note to tell him later that he'd noticed the same phenomena before. 'They arrive unheralded, to announce death' one of the books said, and he suspected there was a deeper truth in it. 

"Who?" Stiles asked. 

"Meredith," Lydia said, "I was dreaming. Like before, the nemeton, the bodies, all wreathed in flame, Parrish showed up with a body, but Meredith was with him, and she looked at me and told me that death was the key and the doorway." She shook her head and looked at them, "And then I woke up, almost driven to come here." 

"Like the banshee urge?" Stiles asked cautiously.

"No," Lydia said, "This was different." She shook her head, "No scream at all. But I realized something tonight. After what Peter said, what Liam said." 

"What?" Stiles said, terror mounting inexplicably.

"There's another figure I've been seeing in my dreams. Through the fire, and hard to see. I didn't pay attention to it before but I did tonight." 

"What dreams?" Jackson said, "What figure?" 

"A raven," Lydia said, “flying in darkness, the full moon caught in its beak." 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I’ve started going full AU now. 
> 
> To clarify, in kitsune mythology it wasn’t uncommon during cases of kitsune possession for the possessed to become a kitsune themselves after the possession is over. 
> 
> This was the most interesting part of the mythology to me, and I explore it in Nemeton’s Shade too. Obviously this is a very different tack of the same idea. And plays into the strange way Stiles throws werewolves around in 5 like he has super strength and not they. 
> 
> It’s a plot hole, but one I love. 
> 
> I hope you’re enjoying it, comments and kudos are life.


	4. Chapter 4

The alarm goes off early again. Stiles groaned as he turned it off. He'd stayed up late with Lydia and Jackson, discussing her dreams, which increasingly seemed connected to what was going on, but Stiles couldn't figure out how. The two competing theories were that what was happening was all tied to death and so were triggering her powers, or that her powers were expanding in strange new ways. 

Meredith, of course, was a complication neither she nor Stiles was ready to address. 

She'd fallen asleep in his dad's old room, exhausted. And eventually he had as well, but not before pulling his old murderboard out and setting it up on a different wall than the updated one he'd switched to after Mexico. 

Next up he pulled out the stack of maps he'd accumulated over the last two years— ley line maps; maps of the telluric currents; maps of the city sewer lines; and the old prohibition tunnels they intersected with— and had made an appointment at a printing company he knew the sheriff's department used for that afternoon.

He slid out of bed and into the shower then fumbled his way into clothes, but feeling somewhat more human. He glanced at his phone as he slid it into his pocket, and decided to grab breakfast on the way. He had a stop to make before his nine o’clock appointment with McCall. He grabbed the stack of notes he'd made the night before, and headed for the stairs, surprised to find Jackson waiting for him in the living room. 

"I thought you'd still be asleep," Stiles said, a little awkward. 

"I heard your alarm," Jackson said. "I thought we weren't meeting McCall until nine?" 

"I have a stop to make first," Stiles said. "Someone I hadn't remembered to inform about my dad before I left town." 

"Who?" Jackson said. 

"My grandfather," Stiles said. "He's in a care home. They say he's more aware in the mornings, less combative, though that won't last." 

"You don't sound like a big fan," Jackson said, studying him.

"I doubt I'll visit him again," Stiles said, "He's—” he paused, searching for words, "not impressed with his only grandson," he finally finished. 

"Well, he's probably not aware of your best qualities," Jackson said. "Saving werewolves doesn't make front page news after all, even in Beacon Hills." 

Stiles snorted. "Yeah, I should talk to the newspaper about that, I'm sure it would change his mind." 

"What's his issue?" 

"What isn't?" Stiles said. "He's criticized everything since I was born. I mean, it started with dad, but turned to me too. He was barely polite to my mom. Dad finally cut him out of his life before mom died, when he suggested dad should divorce her. But after she died, my grandfather’s neighbors found him wandering the neighborhood one night, and he could barely remember his name." Stiles shook his head. "Turned out to be a different dementia than got my mom if you can believe it. So dad put him in a home, and we would visit occasionally. You could see the old man worming his way back in through my dad’s guilt. We kept our visits short, since none of us had anything good to say either way, just things like his birthday and around Christmas, which isn’t a big deal in our house, because my mom died so close to it. He doesn't even always remember dad when we go, but he always recognizes me. I’m not even sure why he wanted us to visit, since he hated dad, and hated me more. I think I hated him more for the way he treated dad than how he treated me." 

"You could just not tell him," Jackson said, "It might be kinder." 

"Who said this has anything to do with kindness," Stiles said, looking at Jackson, "I thought you knew me better than that." Because Stiles knew himself, and knew most of the time spite was a surer motive for his actions than kindness. 

"I'll come with you." 

"It's fine," Stiles said. "I'll be back in time to pick you up for the meeting at the station."

"I'm not asking Stilinski," Jackson said, with his normal air of careful contempt. "I can't make fun of the old man for the next decade if I don't ever meet him." 

Stiles laughed, in spite of himself, and finally nodded. "Is Lydia still asleep?" 

"Are you kidding?" Jackson said. "She was up and gone hours ago. I have no idea how she functions on so little sleep." 

"Probably helpful for a banshee," Stiles said. "There's not many restful nights." 

They went back out to his dad's 4Runner and he glanced at Roscoe longingly as he did so, missing simpler times before werewolves when the Jeep seemed an object of freedom and a connection to his mom. 

The drive to the home was mostly silent, Jackson clearly reacting to his mood, or maybe just as little a morning person as Stiles was. As well as they'd gotten to know each other since the nogitsune, there were still huge parts of the other boy's personality that were a mystery. Before the fallout of the nogitsune, he'd always just sort of thought Jackson was just Jackson, snarky and defensive when you got too close to what he kept hidden, but not particularly complex. But while he knew better now, there were still huge parts of him that were mysteries and the parts he did know hinted at a much more complicated person than he’d ever imagined, and that he found endlessly intriguing.

His phone beeped as he got out, a text from Derek that Dr. Geyer had released Val to go home, and forbidden her to go back to work until Peter and Derek agreed she had enough control to be safe. He'd been sidelined when Melissa and Chris filled Liam's stepdad in on the supernatural, but he had reluctantly agreed it was past the time to tell him. The old habit of trying to protect people through ignorance had never served them well after all.

He shot back a reply just before he checked in with the desk, and showed them the paperwork from the judge that shifted responsibility for his grandfather's care to him, and updated them with his contact information. Jackson followed him like some kind of comforting shadow as he walked down the hall to his grandfather’s room.

"Back again?" the old man said before he turned and saw him and then said, "Oh, it's you." 

"Do you recognize me?" Stiles said.

"Of course I do," the old man said with venom. "My ungrateful son's loser kid." 

"Yeah like you were some prize," Stiles retorted, long ago having given up on being pleasant to the man, "chased away your wife and your own kid put you in this place to rot so he didn't have to look at you, and what was the name of that teenager you got fired over? She sure wasn't interested in you once you couldn't fix her science grades anymore was she?" 

He heard Jackson take an almost gasping breath behind him.

"At least I'm not an abomination in the eyes of god," the old man sneered, "Always hanging off that idiot McCall kid and mooning over the DA's son. You're pathetic, why are you even here?"

Stiles had known for years that his gift for cruelty was more from the old man than either of his parents. "Just came to say goodbye and good riddance," he spit out, "I figured I'd let you know that my dad was dead, so no more annual guilt visits to you now." Stiles said, dropping the news with maximum scorn. "And you can rot away as unloved as you deserve to be. And someday forgotten, because there won't even be an announcement for your death if I have any say." 

Stiles turned and walked quickly past Jackson without another word, eager to get out of the room, away from the stale scent of cigar smoke that still permeated the scattered formula around him, and away from a thousand unwanted memories of derision and rejection. 

\---------------

If the ride to the home was silent, the ride to the station was crypt-like. Finally Jackson asked, "Do you want to talk about it?" 

"What's to talk about?" Stiles said, thinking of several things he definitely didn't want to talk about. 

"The Mets, Stiles, what do you think?" Jackson said in that sarcastic but not mean tone Stiles had gotten used to, a language they shared, though Stiles was fully aware that Jackson could be just as cutting and mean as he could. Maybe that was even part of the attraction. He knew Jackson withheld that, the same way he did, but was equipped to get as well as give. He could, in a fucked up way, know he was dealing with an equal. 

"I think this next year is their season," Stiles said. "The rebuilding era is over and they're gonna go all the way." 

"Is that how it always is?" 

"Naw, he was slightly better when dad was with me, more dismissive, less cruel. But it's always been there,” he said. “He was an asshole his whole life, you know? Like he taught at the high school for years. I definitely know Harris had him, that’s why he was such a dick to me. Lydia's mom mentioned him once too." Stiles wondered if Harris had ever realized that Stiles likely hated the old man as much as Harris did, and if it would have changed anything if he’d mentioned it. 

"I don't remember you mooning over me," Jackson said. "But I told you I was everyone's type, so it's no surprise." It made Stiles laugh. 

"Honestly, I don't remember it either. Maybe it was a little league thing? I must have done something he saw as mooning. Who knows with that fucker."

"And he turned out to be right," Jackson said, with a slight hint of question in it. 

"Yeah, you finally won me over with kindness of all things," he said, shaking his head. "Jackson Whittemore reduced to kindness. Who'd have thought it?" 

Jackson snorted and let the topic drop, but the silence that resumed for the rest of the drive was a more companionable one. 

When he walked in, Stiles hesitated inside the doors of the station for the first time he could remember. It had always felt like a second home, but he was acutely aware that things had changed irrevocably. There'd be a new sheriff soon, and most of the deputies were already not the men and women he'd grown up around. 

He could see Peter and Derek in his dad's old office already, but no McCall or Parrish, though he assumed they were probably around somewhere. He skirted the mostly empty desks, though he could see two in the corner that had been pushed together where two women and a man in suits that screamed feds were working amidst a forest of coffee cups and takeout containers. 

He skirted the room away from them on the way to the office, Jackson at his back, and ignored the glances from all three. The door was open and he stepped inside.

Jackson looked at Derek, "FBI?" and Derek nodded once. 

"Where's McCall?" Stiles said.

"Grabbing copies of the report from last night for all of us," Peter said. "Derek and I were just talking about last night's unexpected events after I left." 

"See, you say unexpected like it was anything but, did you know?" Stiles asked, looking at the older man closely. "That he still had the Bite, I mean." 

"I didn't know, but I wondered," Peter said. "There were signs I noticed. For one, he's far stronger than you'd expect of any omega, and has been remarkably stable without a pack. Which is uncommon for someone who was born and raised in a pack. Born wolves either go omega early on their own, and are fine, or in situations where they lose their pack, tend to not be." Peter ticked the items off on his fingers, "Derek's been no more strange than he was as an alpha, perhaps even more stable. Plus of course, there's the full shift evolution, which I've never heard of in a beta, let alone an omega." 

"There's no reason—” Derek started to say, and Peter cut him off.

"I already said, I'm not saying you are an alpha, just that there seems to be a gray area you've fallen into. You didn't give up the spark, you sacrificed it, and it's made you something unusual." 

"Unusual attracts hunters," Derek said. 

"So does your name," Jackson said. "Even in London you mention the Hale pack and it means something, though what it is can vary a lot." 

"The privilege of being a cadet branch of an old family," Peter said, and Derek rolled his eyes. 

"We're not werewolf royalty," he said.

"Thank goodness," Peter said with a grimace, "Being Hales is enough of a target." 

"Wait are there werewolf royalty?" Stiles said. 

"Yes, Stiles," Derek said, "The queen of England is a secret werewolf." 

"Why do all the Hales do this to me?" Stiles said to Jackson.

"Because they recognize sarcasm is your love language," Jackson replied, "and they all secretly want you." 

"Rude," Stiles said.

"It's true, Stiles," Peter said dryly while smirking at him, "we all just find you—” he paused, dramatically, "irresistible." 

Stiles was just gearing up for a retort when Jordan and McCall came around the corner with a stack of reports. 

"Oh look," Jackson said, "saved by the bureaucrats." 

"I feel like that's an insult," Parrish said, looking around. 

"Not at all," Derek said, moving out of the way. "Just Jackson." 

Honestly, Stiles was pretty sure it was an insult, and that it was 'just Jackson' at the same time. McCall handed him a copy of the report and swung the door closed as he came in the door. 

"I see we have some friendly federal agents in town," Stiles said. 

"Field agent Cordova and her team out of LA," McCall said. "I requested them, since they have the most experience with the supernatural that I'm aware of." 

"Any experience with the Dread Doctors?" Stiles asked. 

"No, but there were some reports from out of Siberia we're working on getting translated that might be relevant," McCall said. "They were tagged low priority when we gathered them a few months ago, and never got properly translated, but they were in the database and we got a lucky hit. It may not be anything." 

"Siberia seems a bit far," Jackson said. 

"Not necessarily,” Peter said, giving Stiles a long look, which puzzled him. "There are some interesting stories out of Siberia, the world is more connected than you think." 

The memory of the White Wolf legend Peter had told him flashed through his mind, and the look he'd given Stiles made sense. He was surprised to enjoy the feeling of understanding Peter's cryptic remarks. 

"I promised to show you the field report from last night," McCall said, holding it up. "You'll notice that—” he got interrupted by a knock on the door, and Stiles turned with everyone to see who it was. 

McCall gestured to one of the agents he'd noticed when he came in, and she opened the door. 

"You told me to interrupt with anything," she said, "and it's pretty tentative, but there's been some activity at the abandoned Fort Jewett." She handed over a page to McCall. "Army dispatch gave us a heads up that a perimeter alarm was tripped, but then silenced almost immediately." She looked around at each person and Stiles was certain she was categorizing them and measuring them as she did. He wondered what she saw.

"That sounds promising," McCall said, handing the report to Peter who read it, with Derek peering over his shoulder, and then looked like he was trying to imagine something.

"Everyone, this is field agent Stephanie Cordova. She grew up in a werewolf pack in Ohio, so is fully aware of the supernatural world." McCall pointed out each other person in the office, and Stiles saw her react to the name Hale.

"Is there a map?" Peter said, finishing the brief, and Stiles pulled out the one he'd stolen from Beacon Hills Water and Sewer over a year before. Unfolding it, he laid it on the familiar desk, far cleaner than he'd ever seen it. 

"Ah, the sewer tunnels, helpful. Let’s see, the southeast corner is here," Peter said, pointing on the map, "and the second alarm was in the old supply building, which is maybe this one?" He pointed to one of the larger buildings. 

"Do you think it's these Dread Doctors SA McCall mentioned?" she said looking at Peter. So she had been briefed at least in part about some of them, she knew Peter was the alpha. 

"No," Derek said instantly, and Peter made a murmuring sound as he looked over the map. 

"I agree," McCall said, "But I'd like to hear your reasoning." 

"It's the date isn't it?" Peter said looking at Derek.

"Partially. This just happened yesterday," Derek said. "A few hours before whatever hit the telecom station." He pointed to where the telecom relay was on the map, relatively far away, "This might be connected to whatever that was, but if Valack is to be believed, the Dread Doctors are using the power of the telluric currents for whatever they're doing, and that's outside of the current upswell."

Stiles pulled out the telluric current map he'd stolen from Danny, and unfolded it. Derek appeared to be right, though he knew Danny's map wasn't complete either. 

"That's an excellent point," Peter said. "If Valack were trustworthy, and I'm certain he is not." 

"Who is this Valack?" the agent asked, looking at McCall, who turned to Stiles. 

"He's the man who told me about the frequencies," Stiles said to the Special agent, and turned to the field agent, "To be fair, Peter's right, he's not trustworthy at all, and is locked up at an asylum for dangerous supernatural creatures." 

"To be totally fair so was I until quite recently," Peter said looking at the field agent, "and not altogether unjustified, if perhaps a little extreme." 

She gave him a longer look, and Peter gave her his most charming smile, which Stiles recognized viewed as basically a rattlesnake's warning. Oh joy, he thought, Peter felt like playing games. 

"In this case I don't think he had a reason to lie to me," Stiles said. "Or he's playing a deeper game, but I just don't see what he has to gain by doing it." 

"It's not always about what you gain, Stiles, sometimes it's about making your enemies lose." And Stiles thought back to Peter's actions immediately after Laura's death, and he realized that was a fundamental aspect of Peter's mentality he'd never quite understood. 

"I need to find a way to verify what he said," Stiles answered. "Do you think Morrell might know something?" 

"Marin Morrell does know a great deal," Peter mused, "And isn't above meddling herself, in pursuit of her so-called balance." 

"Braeden says she's trustworthy," Derek added. "Her work as Deucalion's emissary aside." And the bitter note in Derek's voice was obvious.

"That's an interesting resource," Peter said. "What is the so-called 'Destroyer of Worlds' up to?" 

"He's taken in a couple of skittish omegas," Derek said. "And so far is keeping a low profile." 

"I should pay him a visit," Peter said, "Perhaps Special Agent McCall might lend me a field agent or two as company, I would rather not tempt Deucalion with the promise of my power when he's so recently reformed, it might be too much temptation." 

"I feel like this is a part of the story I wasn't told," McCall added, looking at Stiles.

"To be fair, there's a lot of things that didn't seem completely relevant when we talked," Stiles said. "You know, just some how psychotic alpha werewolves are, kidnappings, mass murder, general reigns of terror, sometimes totally justifiable revenge killing sprees. There's a lot. I mostly focused on the relevant stuff." 

The field agent seemed to twitch, and Jackson gave her a smile and said, "Welcome to Beacon Hells. This is why I moved to the other side of the planet to escape it." 

She laughed at him, and Stiles felt a flash of annoyance that Jackson was using that charm on her. 

McCall nodded and quickly assigned two of the agents to go with Peter afterwards to visit Deucalion, but added agent Cordova would be joining him to go back over to the telecom site later when her partner got back from some mysterious errand. 

"I'd also like Jackson to join me," Peter said, turning to look at the beta. "Your special talents would be helpful in an emergency, and it might ease certain suspicious members of the pack to know someone is keeping tabs on me." 

Stiles snorted at Peter's optimism, and Jackson gave him a look. Stiles had long considered Deucalion a perpetual threat second only to Gerard in the worries category, so he nodded, and Jackson turned to Peter and agreed. 

"I do want to go over this report with you all," McCall said, “and I have an appointment downtown at the federal courthouse in an hour. So I'll be brief." Cordova nodded and headed back to her desk, and Stiles let the door shut again. 

"The first thing is we didn't find a body," McCall said. "Which worries me, because Val didn't see it either. But the amount of blood, I can't imagine that he's still alive." 

"Some predators will cache prey," Derek said. "The instinct can crossover. Werejaguars will do it." 

Stiles remembered Kate Argent's caching of Derek and shuddered lightly. 

"We found some footprints," McCall said, flipping to a page deep in the report. "Page 25. But they're very strange." 

"Impossible," Peter said, straightening when he saw them. 

"You recognize it?" 

"La Bete," Peter said. 

Stiles' heart froze, and Jackson turned and looked at him, stunned. Stiles’ thoughts raced back to that fragment of description from the night before, and now Peter had confirmed what he’d only suspected.

"I have something to add to that," Stiles said out loud. "Val described it as dark like a shadow, which reminded me of a reference I'd read once. A witness during the time of La Bete described it as '...a huge black beast, walking on two legs, looking like a shadow given life, like flames of night.' That part's a quote, and burning blue eyes."

"The size makes me think of the alpha shift," Peter mused, "but not the description. The eyes after all are distinctive, and the footprints are wrong." 

Stiles looked at the footprints, and they were utterly unlike a werewolf in any shift. "These aren't human or canid looking," he said, "It almost looks—” he thought for a moment, "Bear maybe?" 

"No. But closer," Derek said. He looked at Peter, "Löwenmensch?" 

"Possibly. They're very rare anymore." 

"Lion-men?" Stiles asked. 

"Werewolves have the Bite, Löwen-mensch have their own gift. It made them extremely valuable to hunters, so they were hunted nearly to extinction, if any remain, they’re very hidden." 

"Wait, so the most famous werewolf in the world isn't even a werewolf?" Jackson said, sounding almost offended.

"It would explain a lot," Peter said tapping a pen on the map. "No pack. the way it hunted. Well this is a problem isn't it?" 

"Other than a brief, 'believed extinct' note in the files, the bureau doesn't know much about them," McCall said, "Why is that a problem?" 

"The Löwenmensch are hard to kill," Derek said. "Immune to wolfsbane, resistant to ordinary fire, they can break through mountain ash, and heal faster than even an alpha werewolf." 

"So they're terrifying and unstoppable?" Stiles said. "I guess that explains why the Dread Doctors were trying to create one." 

"Close to it," Peter replied. "Though the line about ordinary fire does make me wonder about our fine deputy." And Peter looked at Parrish who'd been standing quietly in the corner listening.

"Who me?" Parrish said, and Jackson snorted in disgust. 

"No the other deputy in the room," Jackson said in a witheringly sarcastic tone, and Parrish looked around and landed on Stiles in confusion. 

"As inevitable as it may seem, he's not a deputy yet," Peter said. "Yes we’re talking about you. The hellhound. Protector of the Wild Hunt and the sacred spaces," he mused. "Faery fire might do it," he finally said. 

"You seem to know more about me than I do," Parrish said, "I just learned what I even was." 

"Your nature is in your very bones," Peter said sadly. "Loyalty and sacrifice. A gift and a curse." 

Something in Peter's words made Parrish shudder and look grim, and Stiles wondered what past damage he was reliving. 

McCall looked at his watch, "I need to go if I'm going to make my appointment, read the report, but keep it discreet. The agents all know to work with you. Stiles, they are under the impression that you are something, but I kept it vague." 

Stiles nodded. 

"I'd like to go back over the site this afternoon with you in the daylight if we can?" Rafe looked at his watch again, "Maybe 3pm?" 

"I'll try to be back from visiting Deucalion," Peter said, and turned to Jackson, "Shall we collect our bodyguards?" 

Jackson gave him a small smile that warmed Stiles up, and he realized he had something he needed to do, and though the timing was terrible, it had to be a priority. He'd been avoiding it by concentrating on everything else, but the time had arrived. He sent a quick text and ignored the conversation around him.

Stiles: We need to talk. Do you have some time?"

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I’ve literally had notes about the ‘abomination’ moment for a year. It’s such a strange word for Stiles to reach for in S2, and I thought this would be an interesting place to bring it in. 
> 
> I’ve been writing absurdly fast for me. I’ve broke 5k words a day twice this week. I’m hoping that keeps up. Based on the outline I’ve updated to this being 12 chapters, but that may change a little. 
> 
> As always, I hope you’re enjoying the story and kudos and comments are life. Feel free to leave me questions in the comments.


	5. Chapter 5

"So you want this one printed in red, this one in blue, and this last one in green right?" The man in the red polo who had mumbled his name to them wrote 'green' on a post it note, and attached it to the service tunnel map. 

"Yes, but it's important they be scaled to match, so when you lay one over the other you can match them up exactly. They all show at least the major roads, so you can use that for a guide to match them up. I need them to be as close to exactly matching as possible, and I know they don't all fully cover the same areas, but scale and completeness really matter, so just leave the margins blank but center them the best you can."

"This one says Confidential Property of Beacon County Water and Sewer?" 

"Yeah, I borrowed it," Stiles said. "My dad works for the county. Can you get it done today?" 

"There'll be a $50 rush charge," the man said. "Cash." 

"Fine. As long as that includes discretion too," Stiles said, giving him a hard look and the man nodded. 

"Anytime after 5, and before 6:30," Red Polo said.

He handed over the money. "I'll be back around 6." 

"Criminals," Stiles muttered as soon as he was back outside. 

"And stealing the municipal water and sewer maps isn't criminal?" Derek said with a slight smirk. 

"It's not like I would get arrested for that," Stiles said, and winced as it hit home again that his dad would never threaten to arrest him again. 

Derek made a noise as he opened the 4Runner's door and said, "Considering the number of things you haven't been arrested for, I'm not sure what that would take." 

"If I get caught using Parrish's logins the way I used my dad's I guess we'll find out," Stiles said, starting the ignition. "Or the keys to the evidence room. Maybe the master key to the school too." 

"You're not worried about the keys to my loft?" Derek said. 

"I know the owner, he wouldn't press charges." 

Derek made a noise that might mean amusement, it was hard to tell. 

"I've got an errand to run," Stiles said, "I'll drop you at the house?" 

"That works for me," Derek said, "Braeden is back in town. She was taking care of something, but said she'd meet me around noon." 

"Will you ask her about those electricity shot things she had before?" Stiles said. "I don't want to gamble everything on the ‘maybe’ of hellhound fire." 

"I will, and she might have some ideas of her own." 

"Awesome," Stiles said, pulling down the familiar road to his house. His house. A family reduced and reduced until only he remained. He felt alone in a way the pack couldn't fill. 

Derek gave him a look, and it reminded him that he may be alone, but he wasn't the only one who knew that experience. He pulled up in front of the house, and said, "And tell Braeden I said hey."

Derek nodded and shut the door behind him. 

Stiles pulled out and headed for the road to the Tate Farm. 

The drive wasn't long and was familiar, though Malia had spent more time during their relationship at his house than he had at hers. 

He turned off the pavement onto the long gravel road, and a few minutes later he pulled up to the front of Malia's house, where he found Braeden loading something large and bulky that looked suspiciously like a body into the back of her familiar truck. 

She relaxed when she recognized him through the glass, and he saw her slip a gun back into its holster.

He slid out of the door. "Braeden," he said, "I shouldn't be surprised to see you here I guess." 

"You know why I came back," she said, and looked him over, "I am sorry about your dad though." 

He nodded. "The funeral's tomorrow, if you want to come. Scott's on Sunday." 

"Derek's been keeping me informed of what's been going on," she said. 

"Yeah, he said you were headed that way," Stiles said. "Is Malia around? I was supposed to meet her." 

"She's cleaning something up," Braeden said, "She'll be out in a minute." 

"If you're looking for someplace to dump that, Lydia might have some suggestions." 

"I've made arrangements," she said smiling, "but thanks for the tip." 

He nodded, "I figured." He hesitated, "Does it bother you?" 

"The killing?" she said. 

He nodded again. 

"Not the same as it did at first," she said. "I know what I am, and I'm comfortable that the people I've killed deserved to die. That all of them would have killed more people if given the opportunity or motivation."

He bit down on his lip. 

"Are you still bothered by what the nogitsune did?" she asked. 

"No. there was—” he hesitated, "I killed someone. Helped. it bothers me that it doesn't bother me." 

"Do you think he or she would have killed more people?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, "Maybe a lot." 

"I can't tell you how to feel," she said, "But I can say this having been around you for a while. I think you have a strong morality, but it's not the same as Scott's was. Peter talks about black and white morality, and I grew up with the idea of good and evil morals. But I've grown to think that there's only really one set that matters, what you can live with, and what you can't. Try to do what you think is good, and avoid doing anything you can't live with, and you're probably doing okay." She shrugged, "But what do I know, I just tortured a Russian mobster for information about a mass murderer." 

Stiles laughed humorlessly. "Well if that's all." He hesitated, "Derek's going to talk to you, but we may have a lead on Corinne. We don't think it's the Dread Doctors at any rate." 

"That's what he said," she nodded. "She's working with someone local, I'm not sure who. She was seen in Portland last night." 

"Then it wasn't her," he said. "Damn." 

"It could be whoever she's working with," Braeden said. "We'll check it out." 

Stiles nodded and she headed towards the driver's seat. "I'll see you later I'm sure," she said, "I need to get this taken care of." 

Thanks Braeden." 

"Being human in this world is hard," she said, “we've got to stick together." 

He nodded and didn't correct her assumption that he was still human.

After she left he walked up onto the porch and knocked, and Malia answered the door with a handful of bloody towels. 

"I heard you get here," she said in that matter of fact way she had.

"I thought you might want help," he said. 

"No, I got it." 

"Use bleach on the floor, Lydia can probably tell you how to do it," he said. "To hide the DNA evidence, just in case." 

She nodded, and like he sometimes did he wondered if she actually understood what DNA was, or if it was just one of the things she took on faith about the world. "Got it," she said. 

She walked past him, shoving the bloody towels into a garbage bag, headed towards the garbage can.

"Wait," he said, reaching out and taking it, "I'll take it by Deaton's office and throw them in the incinerator." 

She handed the bag over and then stood and looked at him. "You wanted to talk," she said. "Is this about the meeting?"

"No," he said, dropping the bag, and reaching out to pull her closer to the steps up to the porch, "can we sit?" 

She followed him and sat further away than she normally did, not touching him. 

"I've been—” he hesitated, "I've been a bad boyfriend." 

"Yeah," she agreed. 

"It's not about you, not really." 

"Are we breaking up?" she asked abruptly.

"Yeah," he said after a moment. "We are." 

"Okay," she said, "I think—” she hesitated, "I think it's good. We've both been doing our things, but it's not like we're just doing them and are busy, but like we're not an us, you know?" 

He'd planned to say it differently, but it was exactly the same essence.

"Yeah," he said. 

"I've missed my friend," she said. "But I had these feelings about Theo, even Scott a bit. And I realized I didn't really feel that way about you anymore."

Stiles felt a sense of relief that the feelings were mutual. 

"You're still my anchor," she said. "You're the first human I felt was real, and felt was dependable." 

"I'm still your pack," he said, "And your friend. Nothing will change that." 

"I helped you kill Theo," she said with a smile. "We're Pack forever." 

Stiles thought back to when it all began and Peter had wanted Scott to kill with him to cement the bond. "Yeah," finally understanding how that would work, "Pack forever." 

"Do you think I was into Theo because Peter's my father?" she said after a moment, "I hear the girls at school talking about daddy issues, and I think that's what they're talking about right?"' 

He just looked at her for a moment, so glad that they’d managed to break up as friends instead of the horror show that some couples became, and felt like something had finally gone right after the crapshow of the previous weeks. It gave him hope that other good things might be coming too.

"Naw," he said, "It doesn’t mean anything other than Theo was super fucking hot, and still a psycho. No daddy issues needed to explain that." 

\------------

After leaving the Tate farm he stopped and completed a few last minute details for the funeral the next day, and stopped at his mother’s grave with flowers, before heading back to the substation to meet McCall, Derek and Braeden. Deucalion had proven elusive, and Peter had taken longer to locate him than he'd hoped, but finally ran him down not far from Beacon Hills. 

He ended up being a little early, so, reluctant to cross the police tape by himself, he pulled up the secured link to the surveillance video Jordan had forwarded to everyone when Beacon Hills Telecom finally got it to him after noon. 

He let the video playback in reverse from the arrival of McCall and himself to the scene, as they walked away, back to looking inside, and back to their cars and arrival. He paused it to examine it when the thing first appeared on camera, then kept going backward frame by frame. There was something shadowy about it, like the edges were ill defined, and strange. He watched in reverse as it smacked Val and tossed her twenty feet, and then watched back to where she first arrived on the scene, no monster in sight. 

He sped things up, watching the tech's disappearance into the back of the building, back through his savage attack inside and then the tech unlocking and opening the door, then his arrival. 

The inside camera was positioned to watch the door, not to watch the room, so there was no way to see where the löwenmensch had been hiding. But his curiosity and fury were fully engaged and he kept watching back, waiting for its initial arrival to see how it had gotten the door open. 

It never happened. 

Instead, two days before, he found where a team of what seemed to be maintenance had stopped by and done something inside. He watched carefully and the same three people that arrived all left. 

He paused the video and sat back, staring at the building in confusion. 

It just wasn't that big. 

He'd seen the inside. There was no way three maintenance people had missed it if something that large was inside. 

He got out and walked around the building, looking for anything out of place. He heard a car pull up and came back around the substation to see Rafe McCall and agent Cordova getting out of a sedan, and saw Parrish was pulling his cruiser down the road as well. 

McCall slid out of the driver's seat and walked over to meet him, while the field agent started looking around, while referencing what looked like her own copy of the report, getting up to speed, Stiles thought. 

"What is it?" McCall asked him. 

Stiles bit his lip, and held up his phone, "Have you watched the video yet?" 

"Briefly, just enough to see the thing, and watch the attacks," he said. "Why, what did you notice?" 

"It's arrival," Stiles said, "Or the lack of one. It was already inside when the tech arrived and unlocked the door. And two days ago a maintenance team was here, all accounted for in and out. But nothing in between." 

"So either the video is lying to us, or there's another way in," Rafe said, nodding. "Good work." 

Stiles wished for his map of the tunnels, but he'd spent enough time staring at it to feel confident saying, "I think it's going to be a connection to the sewer and water tunnels," he said. "There's one that should pass right through here." 

Rafe nodded again, and Jordan walked up. Cordova yelled for McCall and he jogged off, and Stiles turned to Jordan. "I think there's an access point to the sewer tunnels under the building, if you see something, point it out okay?" 

"I'm still not sure you should be here," the deputy said, looking at him, "McCall okayed your involvement, but you're only seventeen." 

"Wow, patronize me much?" Stiles said annoyed, "I've been dealing with this shit for two years. I've been possessed, beaten, and died twice. I'm probably more prepared for this world at this point than you are, Deputy Parrish." 

"I'm not saying you can't handle yourself Stiles, just that maybe you shouldn't have to," Parrish said. "We're burying your father tomorrow. No one wants to bury you too." 

"I haven't stayed dead yet," Stiles said, trying to avoid thinking about the near misses. 

"I'd rather you avoid it altogether." 

"That's pretty unlikely," Stiles said. "But I promise that if that thing shows up I'll let you deal with it. Now would you like to finish checking over the outside of this place with me?" 

Parrish smiled apologetically and gave him a quick nod, and they turned back and continued around the building, confirming that there was only a small ventilation entry on the back wall, too small for even a child to enter through. 

He heard another vehicle and he and Parrish completed their circuit, coming out much closer to where the FBI agents were working and talking, and seeing Derek and Braeden had arrived. Stiles and Parrish carefully stayed out of the crime scene area as they came around to them.

"Busy day," Braeden said with a smile. "Peter just texted Derek, he's finishing up with Deucalion now."

Stiles nodded, wondering if the old enemy was helpful at all. "When we get inside keep an eye out for an entry point to the sewer tunnels, or another way in. I watched the surveillance video back for two days, and there's no point when the creature entered, and the door was locked."

"I noticed that too," Braeden said. 

"Have you seen anything like it?" Parrish asked her. 

"No," she said, "But I'm inclined to agree with Derek that it's a löwenmensch. I called a contact of mine in Germany and he told me that information on the Löwenmensch was rare. The last confirmed one was almost a century ago, and no one ever saw him transform." 

"Then how do they know it was a löwenmensch?" Parrish said. 

"The body was sold to a private collector," Braeden said, while Stiles could see a barely repressed fury in Derek's eyes. "There is an old legend that the blood of the löwenmensch is a remedy for aging." 

"Wait, so that's why they were hunted?" Stiles said. 

"They were also notoriously dangerous, even unprovoked." 

"I would be too with the promise of immortality in my veins," Stiles said, horrified. 

"But it's just a legend right?" Parrish said, turning to Derek.

"Said the hellhound to the werewolf," Derek answered, then added, "I don't know. But the same histories that talk about the gift of the Bite, do talk about the blessing of the Löwenmensch." 

"Well," Stiles said, "we did wonder why the Dread Doctors were trying to recreate supernatural creatures. It's not the strangest thing people have done for immortality."

"We also have another problem." Braeden said. "I finally got a translation for part of what my Russian friend told me this morning." 

Derek rolled his eyes beside her. 

"Malia and Liam are checking the perimeter at Fort Jewett to see if they catch any trace of a scent for confirmation, but I think we know who the Desert Wolf is working with," Braeden said, "but I want your opinion." 

"Sure."

"How trustworthy do you think Alan Deaton is?" Braeden asked. 

Stiles opened his mouth, then closed it for a moment, and thought about Deaton and his obsessive secrecy. The times he left them in danger where information could have helped, and the sacrifices to find the nemeton. 

"I don't know,” Stiles finally said. "I knew him before, you know? So when things happened—” he shook his head. "But, there's things that don't add up, when you think about it. He supposedly promised to watch over Derek and Laura, but he never revealed what he was to Derek until after Peter was dead. Morrell mentioned that she'd talked to him about the alpha pack months before we knew about it." 

"I've never gone to him for advice," Derek said flatly. "I don't trust him." 

"I asked him about hellhounds after I found out," Parrish said. "And he said he didn't know much about them." 

Derek rolled his eyes again. "Hell Hounds are literally called to the sacred places of the earth," he said, "Druids know more about them than anyone." 

Parrish frowned, then turned his head to where McCall had shouted his name and excused himself to walk off. 

"So we agree he's sketchy?" Braeden continued, "because during our conversation my friend said something about traveling with an animal doctor. And the only person I could think of that fit that description and would be helpful in Beacon Hills, is Dr Deaton." 

"He would know her," Stiles said, "from when Malia was born. He might even have known how to contact her." 

"Maybe he was never out of contact with her," Derek said darkly.

"Also possible," Braeden added. "It could be how Corinne located Malia again." 

"Fuck," Stiles said. "I wonder who else he's been working with."

"Who knows," Braeden said.

"He has been helpful," Stiles added, "sometimes."

"With the nogitsune," Derek said, "which means, if he is working with her, it wasn't part of his plans, whatever they are." 

"What could he want though?" 

McCall called over to the group and they turned and he waved them forward, ending the conversation.

"We're going to check out the inside," the agent said. "The investigators finished processing it already, but be careful okay?" 

Everyone agreed and Cordova eyed them all closely, letting her eyes rest on Stiles for what seemed like a long time, and Stiles wondered what was going through her mind.

McCall led the way up to the door, and unlocked it with a key. Beside Braeden he could see Derek stiffen as the door swung open, and he imagined the smell of blood must be overwhelming to the werewolf, since even his normal human nose could smell it.

They made their way inside, the lights above lit it only slightly better than the light coming in through the door. Stiles stepped back against the wall to the right, checking the outside wall and floors as he did, and noticed Parrish doing the same thing on the left, and he smiled and gave a nod of acknowledgement to the deputy when he glanced over, before getting back on task. 

He was halfway down the side of the building towards the back when Cordova caught up with him.

"What are you looking for?" she demanded. 

Her tone annoyed him, but it was no secret, he'd told McCall his theory. "I'm looking for another way in or out. The monster didn't come in through the front, so it got in some other way, and I don't think it was the vent. Didn't you watch the security footage." 

"No," she said, "we had a meeting with a judge about some warrants." 

"Oh," Stiles said, "well, other than being terrifying looking, that's what it showed. I watched and no one came in between the tech who disappeared, and the maintenance team two days ago."

"Good observation," she said, relaxing a bit. "Can I ask a question?" 

"You can always ask," he said. 

"Are you actually as young as you look?" 

"I don't know, how old do I look?" 

"Like a teenager," she said. 

"No, that would be right," Stiles said. "My best friend got bit two years ago by a rogue alpha. It's been sort of a never-ending series of things since then." 

She looked appalled, and said, "Wait, are you human?" 

"Not exactly," he said, "Not that it's relevant." 

"Oh," she said. "McCall didn't say much about you, just that you were involved." 

He went back to searching the wall and floor carefully, making his way back. "Very involved yes," he said, "But I can definitely take care of myself, and I know when to let the strong guys do the work." 

Derek snorted as he came up from the other end. "There's something else in here," he said without preamble to the agent. "I can smell decay. Old. Older than yesterday. It's not strong, but it's here, somewhere." 

A thought hit Stiles. "Where?" he said, "Where'd you smell it?" 

"The back wall," Derek said, "by the vent."

"C’mon," Stiles said, tugging him along, "show me." 

Derek led him back, and told him where he started to notice it. Braeden joined them, and Derek moved among the equipment, creating an area where it was strong enough that the smell was noticeable around the banks of telecom equipment. 

"Could it be inside one of these?" Braeden said, tapping on the arrays bolted to the floor.

"Or under it," Stiles said, examining the floor carefully.

"Your tunnels," McCall said, with a nod to him.

They looked around, Stiles pulling out a small flashlight from his pocket and searching along the edge of the equipment on the back wall. 

"Over here." Braeden said, and pointed out the scrapes where one of the installations had scraped a passage. Derek grabbed hold and pulled, and it swung loose, scraping over the spot Braeden had pointed out, and revealing a hole that dropped down into some very familiar looking tunnels.

"What is that?" Parrish said, pointing at a thick rope of some kind just to the side of the opening that ran into the bottom of the bank of equipment. 

Stiles dropped to his knees and reached out to touch it, it felt like— "Electric cables. Someone is stealing an electric feed through the telecom building."

"Clever," Braeden said in an approving manner. "No one would ever notice if you were careful." 

Cordova shot her a judging look which Braeden ignored. Stiles was coming to the opinion that Cordova had a lot of opinions about how things should be. It made him like her a little bit more for it. 

Derek jumped down to the bottom of the tunnel and sniffed. "It's definitely stronger down here," he said looking up. 

McCall looked at Stiles and Stiles asked the man, "Do you mind?" 

McCall thought for a moment, "No. Go ahead, just be careful." 

Stiles gripped the edge of the opening and swung in, then dropped down by Derek, before moving out of the way. Above him, he could hear a phone start to ring, and then Braeden looked into the hole and said, "That's my guy in Germany, I'm going to step out and take it." 

Derek nodded once, and stepped back as Parrish jumped down into the hole. "I'll come with you," he said. 

Cordova said, "I'm going to try to get updated maps of the tunnels, and organize a couple of teams of deputies to come in and search." 

McCall looked down and said, "I should stay here and coordinate things, Parrish, let me know if you find anything."

"Radios won't work down here," Parrish said, “but I'll send Derek back for you if we find something, he can probably get out the easiest."

Derek made a sound that seemed like agreement, and he turned his head. "There's a sound too. Regular and pulsing." 

"Argents?" Stiles asked, thinking that they hadn't seen or heard from the hunters since their return and the absence was bothering them." 

"Chris and Gerard are likely keeping a very low profile," McCall said, "The judge issued search warrants for their homes and businesses today." 

Stiles looked up at him, the weariness and grief so obvious in that moment. McCall had always been so steadfast, but since Stiles had returned he'd seemed diminished. Like he was just going through the motions. He remembered his dad had worked through the grief after his mother as well, and refused to judge the guy. He was moving forward the best he could. 

"Possibly," Derek said, "but these are deep and low. And the sound is paired somehow. Two frequencies in a weird modulation. If it is Argents, whatever they're hunting it's not werewolves."

"Anything else?" Parrish asked.

"There's more than that faint sweet smell from the other night, I think it's the löwenmensch and it's heavier here. So it may have come through more than once. There's also," Derek said, "I don't know. Something else. Some machinery of some kind maybe. It might be something from the water lines. But it's a steady sound, and it's in the walls."

"That's less helpful," Parrish said. 

Derek shrugged. "The decay scent is coming from that way," he said, pointing. 

"Then let's go." Parrish turned to Stiles and gave him a long look like he was questioning letting him join them. 

As if he could stop it. 

They found the frequency beacon not far down the tunnel, and it was paired, one in each side of the wall. It was the familiar variety they'd seen Argent use before, and helpfully carrying the Argent Arms name. They flashed ominously, and Stiles could almost feel the thud of them deep in his veins. He wasn't sure if it was imagination or not. 

Derek pulled them out and turned them off, turning to look at Stiles, "The enemy of the enemy is not our friend, right?"

Stiles nodded, and they continued, the tunnel eventually opening up into a confluence of tunnels in a large opening. 

"Well of course it's not easy," Parrish muttered. 

"No this is better," Derek said. "There's more—” he stopped and sniffed the air, Stiles watched him intently.

"Hello Derek," a chillingly familiar voice said behind them from another tunnel, and a flash off memory of being backhanded in a cold basement hit him like a physical blow. "I think you have something of mine." 

Stiles whirled at the same time Derek did, to see Gerard only a few feet away. 

Parrish slipped in between Stiles and the old man.

"Stiles," he said, "I see you've found a new uniform to hide behind, and a new dog to protect you." He stepped forward out of the shadowed tunnel. "Quite the downgrade I see. From true alpha to a pathetic omega." 

Derek growled low in his throat.

"Though it's convenient you brought him with you," Gerard said. "It saves me the effort of tracking him down to clean up Kate's little mess." He pulled out a gun and turned towards Parrish who was already in forward motion, while Stiles flung himself back towards the tunnel they'd come out of.

Gerard coldly shot Parrish in the chest as he charged at him and jerked back in surprise when the bullet bounced off his skin and into the tunnel wall.

"A hellhound," the hunter said as Parrish got closer. "I should have expected it. Fortunately I was at least prepared for it," and he pulled a gleamingly bright knife out and started towards the deputy running towards him, but Derek injected himself before he could connect, the knife sinking into Derek's right shoulder, while the werewolf used his left arm to pick Gerard up by the neck and slam him against the side of the tunnel, knocking the air out of him. 

"You always have to be a hero, don't you Derek?" Gerard said with a gasping breath as Derek held him in place. "How many people do you need to save to expunge the guilt of getting your family killed?" 

The werewolf started to shift, his eyes glowed burning blue and his claws extended. 

"Your psychotic daughter killed my family," he half growled. "Not me." 

"Are you going to kill me?" Gerard taunted. "Show yourself to be the murderer your blue eyes already shout at the world?" 

Derek's hand started shaking as his claws dug into the skin of Gerard's throat, something, either sweat or possibly a tear was running down his cheek. 

From seemingly nowhere, even if Stiles realized it was another tunnel, Peter stepped forward and put his hand on Derek's. Stiles thought it was the first time he could remember seeing Peter touch Derek. "Derek," Peter said gently, "This isn't you. You're not a killer, no matter what those blue eyes say to the world." He pulled Derek's hand away from Gerard's throat, and the old man gasped for air as he slid down the side of the wall. Peter gently pushed Derek's hand back towards his chest, moving him back out of the way. 

Then, as Gerard started to stand back up, Peter thrust his hand backwards toward the man, almost faster than Stiles could clearly see, and ripped into the man's chest. Blood and shattered bone spurted out. Peter lifted the man off his feet, letting his eyes burn red, "But me? I am a killer. I'm the killer your family made me into." He turned to look at Gerard's dying face calmly. "And I've waited so patiently for my revenge." 

He watched the life fade from Gerard's face, as Derek slumped against a nearby wall. Parrish stood motionless, and Stiles could see he was trying to process what he'd witnessed. 

Stiles stepped forward, suddenly livid. "There's five FBI agents up there!" he hissed under his breath, "and a deputy sheriff that just watched you kill him in cold blood!" 

"We'll just add him to whatever charnel pile I smell down here, and no one will know the difference," Peter said, seemingly unconcerned with Jordan's presence. "And I think the deputy will prefer to be able to hold this over my head until the end of time to get me to cooperate with whatever tedious crimes he wants help with in the future, since I just killed the man who killed your friend Scott." 

Parrish opened his mouth and closed it, thinking about what Peter said, and looking at Gerard's body. He rubbed his chest absently, finding the hole where the bullet had ripped through his shirt. Then turned his eyes back to Peter, "This time. But no more. There's laws." 

"Of course," Peter said calmly, and so clearly lying to Stiles' practiced eye, "He was the last one involved with the death of my family, and I could not let that pass." 

Parrish looked back at Gerard and then nodded, before he turned and walked away, still rubbing at his shirt.

"You're insane," Stiles said to the older man. "How do you expect to keep getting away with things?" 

"You're so convinced I do things without a plan," Peter said calmly, "But ignore the deeper pattern that I'm never surprised when things DO go my way. Have you thought about why that is?" He patted Stiles on the shoulder with his non-bloody hand. "I think the bodies you're looking for are down this way," he said. "I passed them on my way through."

"Bodies plural?" Stiles said, looking at Derek who was slumped against the wall, staring at Gerard's body, like his heart had broken all over again, and he didn't know which way to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, you didn’t think that mcd warning was going to go unused did you? 
> 
> Lol. I do think that as many times as I’ve killed Kate now, this is the first time I’ve killed Gerard. I’m not sure what that says about me. 
> 
> So I’ve finally bogged down a bit with chapter 6. Which is weird because I know it won’t be a 5K monstrosity, but it should be done tonight or tomorrow. 
> 
> This month has been my most productive ever. I’ve posted over 35k words. Written a little but more. For perspective I didn’t post more than 115K last year, and 205k the in 2019. I don’t know that I’ll keep that up, but it’s a nice break from the glacial pace of 2020. 
> 
> Anyway, comments and kudos are life, and feel free to add questions below as well. I’ll answer anything that isn’t a spoiler.


	6. Chapter 6

There were at least thirty bodies inside when they found the source of the smell, all in various states of decomposition. Including the missing telecom tech, who was both the most recent and in far worse shape than Gerard, when they added him to the pile. Peter had wandered off after they located it, promising to stop by Stiles' house after he dealt with a few things, but hadn't been interested in explaining what any of those things were.

Stiles had texted Kira, Lydia, and Malia that they were meeting at his house to get on the same page, and all had replied that they'd be there. Jackson, who had actually returned with Peter but was stopped by McCall to answer some questions about kanima instead of following into the tunnels, had filled Stiles in on the conversation with Deucalion as they drove away.

As Jackson talked, Stiles was also trying to fit everything together. He assumed the infrasonic beacons Argent had been using had to do with the Dread Doctors since they knew the Doctors were in the tunnels somewhere, and all shapeshifters were more sensitive to ultrasonic sounds than infrasonic ones. 

"What are you thinking about?" Jackson asked, pulling Stiles' split attention completely back to him.

"I'm trying to decide if I'm reading too much into Argent's beacons," Stiles said. 

"What are you reading into them?"

"They're low frequencies, like the telluric currents. I think they might be designed to interfere with whatever the Dread Doctors are doing to keep themselves invulnerable, or maybe just stop them from phasing out." 

"Maybe it's both," Jackson said. "Maybe what you see as two things are one thing somehow." 

"Maybe," Stiles said, thinking about the idea and trying to piece together how it might work, but he just didn't know enough about electromagnetic physics to guess. 

"This isn't the way to your house," Jackson observed.

"Oh sorry, I need to pick up something on the way," Stiles said. "Some maps, from a print shop, I feel like I'm not seeing the whole board, that there's something obvious I'm missing." 

A few minutes later he pulled into the print shop and went in. 

The guy at the print shop actually pulled the oversize maps out of their tube and showed Stiles that they lined up nearly perfectly, then he unrolled a fourth map on plain paper.

"I noticed all your maps were from before the subdivision off of Grant was put in, and I thought it might be helpful for you to have a current municipal map that matched with them," Red Polo said. "So I pulled one off the city's website, and sized it up to match. It's a little grainy like the others, but it's legible."

Stiles glanced at the map, impressed by the initiative, "Thanks dude," he said, and pulled another fifty out of his wallet and handed it over. "That is actually super helpful." He nodded and rolled them up and slid them back in the tube. "Thanks again."

He threw them into the back of the 4Runner and glanced over to where Jackson was texting in the passenger seat. 

"Danny's going to stop by for a minute if that's cool?" Jackson said. "When I told him where I was, he said he has something for you." 

"Sure," Stiles thought, "I didn't even know he was in town. I thought he went to Stanford." 

"He doesn't have classes on Fridays, so he's home visiting his parents," Jackson said. 

"Oh gotcha," Stiles said. "Yeah of course." He wondered what Danny could have for him. 

The rest of the drive was quiet as Jackson typed hurriedly with Danny and Stiles picked over the events of the day and all the open questions, but the silence between them was a comfortable one and he felt more sure about the unspoken future. 

Derek and Braeden had already retreated to one of the guest rooms before they got back to the house, with the door firmly shut. Stiles had mentioned that he was going to have the pack over for a regrouping but told Derek not to worry about joining, and the man had just nodded, wearing his old closed off look. 

They'd only been back a few minutes, long enough for Jackson to go upstairs, planning to shower and change; and for Stiles to order several pizzas to be delivered, struggling to remember everyone's favorites, when Lydia texted for him to open the door.

He did, and she came in carrying a large box which she shoved it into his hand, "Tell Peter he's paying me back for this," she said. "Or I'll have nice boots made out of the skin of an alpha werewolf for fall term in Boston." 

"What is this?" he said, shuffling the surprisingly heavy box awkwardly into a better position.

"Electronics. And don't drop it," she said, ignoring him and moving into the living room. "Also I invited Jordan, who should be here soon. And can you please start inviting him to these meetings yourself so I don't have to repeat everything to him later?" 

"Oh, yeah, that's a good idea," Stiles said, "sorry. Also, again, what's in the box?" 

"Just wait until everyone is here," she said, "and tell me you ordered food, I'm starving. I had a phone interview with Dartmouth today." 

"I didn't think it was on your list," he said. 

"It wasn't," she said. "They insisted." 

"Of course you have colleges courting you," he said fondly, setting the box out of the way against a wall.

"Apparently they have a very discreet program for select supernatural creatures," she said. "Including, I learned today, banshees." 

"Deaton?" he guessed.

"Morrell," she answered. "Unsurprisingly, she has contacts everywhere." 

"Terrifying," he said, glad that as far as Morrell knew, he was human. 

"I'm going to fly out there next month," she said. "They're paying, they'd like me to consider grad school there, even if I don't choose them for my undergrad." 

"That's a lot of planning." 

"She and I have talked," Lydia said. "Morrell says I'm remarkably strong for a banshee, but she worries about me not having any training. We know what it did to my grandmother, and she wasn't very strong at all." 

"You also know what's happening to you." 

"True, but still," she said, "it's something to think of. And my choices are more limited if I decide to pursue this. Columbia has a supernatural school as well, but not really for banshees. Harvard has one, but it's through their secret societies, and that is a hard no for me. I'm getting tired of secrets and cabals and all these hidden loyalties." 

"So Dartmouth," he said, "Nothing like it at MIT I'm guessing?"

"No." 

"Of course not, why make it easy for you." 

"And on the west coast it's all weird choices like Whitman. Do you even know where Walla Walla is? It's 500 miles from anything. Just no." 

Jackson came back down the stairs then and sat next to Stiles. He saw Lydia's eyes when Jackson settled in and knew she'd find the time to play twenty questions with one or both of them in the coming day, but she didn't say anything then. 

The conversation shifted to colleges more generally, Jackson was considering Stanford as well as a couple of Ivys. Stiles had narrowed it down to several criminal justice programs, but really wanted to get into George Washington with it's connections to the FBI. 

Not long after, Liam and Malia came through the door, arguing about something to do with the perimeter fence at the Fort. 

"I'm starving," Liam said when he saw Stiles. "Please say there's something to eat." 

"There's pizza on the way," Stiles said. 

"Thank god," Liam said. 

"Where's Peter?" Malia asked.

"Taking care of something," Stiles said. 

"Hopefully not murdering anyone else," Jackson said, loud enough to be heard over the banging door as Kira made her way in. 

"Who's dead now?" Liam asked. 

"Gerard," Stiles answered. 

"Not a loss there," Lydia said, as Jackson said, "Good riddance." 

Liam paused, looking around, "We're sure?" he said, and Stiles realized that the history he knew, combined with Scott's death, likely had the beta worried about another round of the Argents trying to kill everyone.

"The last I saw he was bleeding out on a pile of week old corpses," Stiles confirmed, and saw Liam relax slightly. 

"We're not in the clear, since Chris and the hunters they brought to town are still out there, plus however the Calaveras decide to react to this, but those are problems for another day." 

Kira slipped into the room, and Stiles took a moment to give her a smile when he saw her hesitantly looking around. She caught his look and smiled back, relaxing. 

He realized he would need to rearrange the furniture a bit if they were going to continue to have meetings at the house, and maybe add some seating, especially if Jackson was going to stick around and Jordan would be joining them more frequently. 

The conversation about the hunters continued, and Kira asked a few questions to get caught up. When it became obvious Peter wasn't going to be joining them, Stiles asked Lydia about the box she'd brought. 

"You talked to me before you left," she replied to him, "about the Dread Doctors, and your theory that they're on a lower wavelength that the cell jammers couldn't affect. So I bought some infrasonic sound detectors, enough for everyone to carry one. If you encounter them, try to get a reading off of them. Once we know for sure, we can check if whatever the Argents were using was geared towards them or towards the löwenmensch." 

Stiles nodded, full of gratitude for Lydia's foresight, the solution was so easy, and he hadn't even thought of it when he'd been thinking about how to stop the Dread Doctors.

It did make him think about the sudden appearance of the löwenmensch however. And led him to wonder who the löwenmensch could be since all the known chimeras were dead, meaning they must have missed someone. 

He said it out loud, then added, "So there's something we aren't seeing. Some—” he hesitated, "some other chimera." 

"And some reason why none of these chimeras were right," Lydia said nodding. 

"What do we know about the dead chimeras?" Kira asked. "Is there something in the successes that made them succeed versus the ones that died without changing?" 

"Maybe it's what they tried to make them into?" 

"Liam, do you think you could get your step-dad to look over what we have and see if there's anything that jumps out at him?"

"He's been working a lot, but I'll ask. Especially if it's something he can do over lunch or dinner maybe," Liam said. 

"Whatever he can do," Lydia said. She turned to Stiles, "And what's with your new wall art?" she asked.

Stiles turned to the stack of maps he'd picked up and already attached to the wall. "This is supernatural Beacon Hills," he said. "The Telluric currents, the ley lines, and the water and sewer lines underneath that are getting used as secret roadways." 

Everyone got closer, looking over the maps, including Jackson. Stiles hung back, being most familiar with all the maps, and having already seen how they over laid the city. 

So when the doorbell rang he could excuse himself to go and sign for the pizza without any problems, leaving them to look it over. 

When he dropped the stack of boxes onto the coffee table, they quickly switched gears and started grabbing for their favorites, and Stiles dug into his own. 

"Why do they match up in so many places?" Liam asked, munching away and returning to look at the map.

"Because someone had to have steered it that way," Stiles said. "When Beacon Hills Water and Sewer put those major tunnels through, they didn't select based on any normal criteria. But they do all move through the convergence points."

"The school has a tunnel under it besides just to the vault?" Kira said. "How did we not know that one?"

"I didn't either, until I got the map," Stiles said. "And you can see that the tunnels to the vault aren’t on this either, and that this one is right under the main hall and lines right up with that convergence zone." 

"I don’t see any tunnels at Eichen House," Lydia pointed out.

"There is," Stiles said, "They’re just older, and aren’t connected to the sewer tunnels, so they aren’t on the map either. And I know the Argents have some tunnels that they use that connect to their warehouse, and to the sewer tunnels." 

"So this isn't complete," Liam said, clearly disappointed.

"It's a start," Jackson said, giving the beta a look, "and it's more than we had." He turned to give Stiles an approving look, "Good job. And good pizza." 

It warmed Stiles a bit that his efforts were being appreciated and he smiled back. 

"The Argents know something more about these Dread Doctors. They must have encountered them before, or at least Gerard had," Braeden said unexpectedly, "Have we checked their files?" 

He turned, surprised to hear her voice, and saw she was sitting near the bottom of the stairs, near Malia, taking a bite from the coyote’s meat lovers. 

"I checked the bestiary, and there was nothing," he answered. 

"I thought Allison gave you copies of some of the non-supernaturals they'd encountered?" Braeden shot back. 

"She did," Stiles said. "I didn't find anything under Dread Doctors or chimeras or anything I could think of." 

"That's probably not how the Argents referred to them, unless they had a copy of that stupid book, or talked to Valack," she pointed out, “so look again, dig deeper.”

"I'll look again," he said. 

"There's a lot of those files, and it's getting late.' 

"There's a lot of you and there's still tomorrow," she said, and then the reality of tomorrow hit, and she added, "Or maybe a different day." She switched gears, and turned to Lydia, "I caught what you said about the infrasonic detector, that's really smart. But we're going to need a way to neutralize their frequency once we figure out what it is, and I don't think the Argents’ beacons are going to be strong enough."

"I was thinking about short-range jammers once we had the frequency figured out." 

"That might work for blunting their effects perhaps, but not neutralizing them," Braeden said. "We'll need something bigger." 

Stiles thought back to an idea he'd been considering for a couple of days, but hadn't brought up. It was definitely bigger at least.

"It's good that you're here," Stiles said to Braeden, "We should talk about Corrine and Deaton." 

"Who's Corrine?" Liam asked.

"What about Deaton?" Kira asked.

"Corinne is the Desert Wolf," Lydia said coolly.

"Who might be working with Deaton," Stiles added. "Or so Braeden's source seems to think.

"The Russian?" Malia said, turning to Braeden, "You got it translated?"

"Yes," Braeden said, "he didn't say Deaton's name, but he mentioned an animal doctor, and it fits with some suspicions I've had about the good doctor for awhile, which is why Derek and I weren't sharing much information with Scott about our search." 

Several of the pack reacted to Derek's name, looking up to where Stiles knew the man to be, then looking pensive or away completely. 

"I did notice his scent very faintly near the main gates, when Liam and I were scouting," Malia said.

"Any others?" 

Some older and fainter," Malia said, "Then Deaton. And three others with the shifter who I assume is my mother. She’s another coyote at any rate." 

"So she has muscle with her," Braeden said. "What do we know about them?"

"All three are human," Liam added. “And guys.” 

"Mercenaries no doubt," Braeden replied. "Hunters probably, so they'll be equipped with wolfsbane and sonic weapons at least." 

"There was also a sound," Malia said. "Low, like a heartbeat but loud." 

"Regular, or two different pitches like a heartbeat?" Lydia asked.

"Like a heartbeat," Malia said. "Two pitches. Just repeating." 

Stiles looked at Braeden, "Does she know about the löwenmensch too?" 

"Deaton might," she said. "We don't know what his game is in this." 

"Or possibly the sound is meant to draw out the löwenmensch, rather than being connected to the Doctors at all," Lydia said. "There is a tunnel that runs close to the fort." 

No one responded to that thought, although Stiles could see a few concerned looks. 

"Tomorrow after the funeral I'll keep working on Corinne with Derek, Malia, and Liam and try to get more information," Braeden said. "I suspect you'll be busy until late, but keep Jackson with you." 

"I'll work on the Argent files with Stiles and Jackson," Lydia said, "and try to pin down what they know about the Dread Doctors." 

"That's such a stupid name," Braeden said, making a face. "Like a comic book supervillain." 

"What should I do?" Kira said from the side of the room. 

"Do you want to join me?" Lydia said. "I'll probably be starting on them before Stiles is done tomorrow." 

The constant reminders about what the next day held forced Stiles to really confront the reality he'd been avoiding thinking about, and he was mostly lost in his thoughts about the next day and life going forward to pay much attention to the meeting breaking up around him.

\---------

There was a moment of surprise when someone knocked on the door, and he thought it might be Peter, but then Stiles remembered Danny was supposed to come by and he pulled the door open.

"Hey Danny, how's it going?" he said, moving out of the way so his old teammate could come in.

"Not bad, still getting used to the drive up from Palo Alto. My parents told me about your dad. He was a good man, I'm sorry," Danny said. "I thought I'd see you at the funeral tomorrow, but when Jackson texted he was in town, I thought this might be best done in private." 

"Oh," Stiles said, "well, come in." 

Danny did, walking into the living room which was still full of a mess of pizza boxes.

"There must have been a meeting of the young supernaturals of Beacon Hills," Danny said, "I'm glad I missed that." 

"How much do you know about all this?" Stiles said. 

"Enough to know I don't want to be involved," Danny said. 

"Even though your best friend is a werewolf?" 

"Kanima, werewolf. Jackson is Jackson, and he's been my best friend since we could walk," Danny said. "But I don't have to be involved in his life the way you were with Scott. And no insult intended, we're just different kinds of people." 

Stiles nodded, looking up at Jackson who'd come back down the stairs and who had greeted Danny making his friend look up.

"No picking a fight, Stiles," Jackson said. 

"I wasn't going to pick a fight," Stiles muttered, who was sort of going to pick a fight probably.

"You were absolutely going to," Jackson said. "My friend, my rules. Be nice." 

"You're the worst," Stiles said, looking at Jackson. 

"Such a charmer," Jackson sassed back. 

"I broke up with Ethan because I don't want to be a part of this," Danny said, bringing the focus back to himself, "I'm not interested in getting dead or turned, which is what seems to happen to humans who stay in this world." 

"I've died twice," Stiles said, trying to defuse the tension a little, "it's not so terrible." A memory flashed of the dread that had shadowed him for months after the sacrifice. "Well okay, that part's a lie," he added after a moment.

"I'm not that guy," Danny said. "I can't not know what I've learned and I wouldn't want to, but I can choose to not get involved, and that's what I'm choosing." 

The refusal to step up irritated Stiles, "So you're just going to do nothing?" 

"Not nothing," Danny said, and handed over a thick notebook he'd walked in with, "as you're about to find out, but I'm not going to go play hero either. You guys have that covered. This may help though. After I got home, I noticed some changes in the telluric currents. I know you have an interest in them, and I've suspected for a while that they were a big part of what was going on around here. So I went and pulled this out. With the changes to the currents, and after I heard your dad and Scott were both dead, it seemed likely to be usable. I'm sorry I can't help more."

Stiles flipped it open to a random page in the middle and flipped forward a page or two, page after page of formula and notes thick with almost incomprehensible equations. 

"I started researching the currents because I live across from Centennial Park," Danny explained, "and during sophomore year I started to notice weird things around the full and dark moons when I'd walk the dogs. Sometimes voices, sometimes things that seemed like ghosts. I wasn't the only one to notice, but I was the only one looking for real world causes, instead of the usual 'this is Beacon Hills' response."

Stiles thought about the hot zones on his map, "Centennial is another of the convergence zones. Ley lines and the currents." 

"You do know about the ley lines too then, good," Danny said. "That part took me months to figure out. Long after the currents." 

"Yeah. I don't understand what their intersection is doing, but I know it's something." Stiles said. 

"There are a lot of mystical explanations in the few reference books I've managed to track down with anything on them at all," Danny said, handing over a flash drive. "Here's scanned copies of everything I found in the year before I realized what this was leading me into and got out of it." 

"That probably makes you smarter than me," Stiles said. 

"Just different people. It's not a value judgement," Danny added. 

"Centennial Park is pretty interesting though. You should look up the charter for it sometime, it's wild," Danny said. "But boiled down, it was originally donated by the Hales like several others in town, there are specific rules about the kind of trees and the specific placement for that park. They were supposed to be oak, ash, and rowan predominantly."

"Knowledge, power, and protection," Stiles said, thinking about the park. 

"It may not surprise you to know that six years ago, right after most of the Hale family were killed in a fire, the trees in Centennial were all killed by vandals, and the parks commissioner, who'd just gotten a surprise promotion when the previous commissioner died in that very fire, decided to hold off on replacing them. Then the matter was forgotten, and they were never replaced." 

"Is every damn thing in this town connected to that fire?" Stiles muttered.

"The better question is if everything in the town connects to that family," Danny said, "and the quick answer is yes. There's a whole section on that flash drive devoted to the Hales."

"So you were discovering the secret shape of the world. And you reached a point where you just decided you wanted to get out?" Stiles said, "How?"

"That's a fair question," Danny said. "But you won't like the answer.”

"Stiles doesn't like answers that don't match his," Jackson said. "And even more he hates to be wrong. Just tell him." 

“My junior year I'm dating a great guy. I can tell he's got secrets, but I thought I had it figured out, because the only family I ever met was his brother. Then weird shit started to happen. Not just around him, but generally." 

Stiles really didn't like where this story was going at this point.

"And I was learning about the Hales, and was starting to come to some conclusions about their connection to some things sophomore year, and then realized that the same people seemed to be involved with the weird murder shit junior year." 

"Oh yeah," Stiles said, “That probably looked suspicious."

“And then I figured it all out. On my own, and imagine my complete surprise to realize once I found it all out, that not only was my boyfriend a very bad guy werewolf, but that some of my so-called friends knew he was, and didn't bother to warn me." 

"He didn't really seem too inclined to hurt you," Stiles said, trying to twist away from the guilt that the new perspective had caused, only to catch Jackson's angry face.

"Wrong answer, Stiles," Danny said, looking pissed. 

"Yeah, I know," Stiles said, "And I am sorry, it was a fucked-up time, but we owed you better."

"Right, which is why I graduated early when the opportunity came up and got out of this place," Danny said. "That—” and he pointed at the notebook, “is the last bit of my involvement. It's everything I learned about the so-called confluence points. How I think they work, and what they do, and even a little bit about how to manipulate them." 

"Can I ask you a quick question?" Stiles said. "Since you've read all of this and it's going to take me a month, and Lydia, and probably a lot of alcohol to get through to understand it." 

"One." 

"Would there be a way to change the frequency for a short period? An hour, or even maybe a few hours?"

"Sure," Danny said. "But to affect it on a large scale, you'd need a lightning storm's worth of power and a way to tune it very precisely." 

"How about the municipal power grid?" Stiles said, thinking back to his earlier idea. 

"Or you could go the domestic terrorism route and hijack the city power grid and use it like a giant electromagnet, sure, but you still have the same problem figuring out how to tune all that power, and more importantly, how to deal with having every transformer in the city being blown out." 

Stiles, who'd been thinking about Kira's ability to affect the electrical grid already, just smiled and said, "I may have that part figured out." 

"Terrifying," Danny said. "I don't want to know anything else. My days of supernatural sleuth are over, and the only crimes I plan to be involved in involve too much drinking in college." 

\---------

After Stiles had apologized again, more fully, and their old teammate had left, Jackson followed him up to his room, where he collapsed on his bed, exhausted.

The shadow of his dad's funeral seemed omnipresent. Braeden's words had made it real again in a way he couldn't ignore.

Jackson lay beside him on the bed, barely touching, just coexisting. Stiles was pretty sure he'd never been as aware of the charged space separating him from another person in his life. 

"That really was a super shitty thing to do," Jackson said after a while.

"It was," Stiles replied. "We were so obsessed with keeping it all a secret. Trying to control people by controlling information. I'm not sure why." 

"Because that was McCall's MO," Jackson said. "It's what he tried to do all the time. He did it to me, to Lydia, to you, and to Allison. And probably everyone else too." 

Stiles thought back to Scott's actions, and how that did fit his behavior.

"True," he said after a moment.

"Just don't try to do that shit with me," Jackson said. "I can handle the truth, but I can't deal with secrets."

"Are we going to talk about that now then?" 

"Us?" Jackson said, turning to look at him. "I think that's a conversation you're not quite ready for." 

"I broke up with Malia today," Stiles said.

"I'm not talking about you being single," Jackson said. "There's all this crap going on, and you're burying your dad tomorrow, and the guy who was your best friend for most of your life the day after, and I don't think you really have the emotional bandwidth to talk about this, do you?" 

"I don't want you to think you're not a priority," Stiles said frustrated. 

"I don't think that," Jackson said in that tone of utter conviction he had. "I can wait. I'm not going anywhere. I came back to this shit-hole town for you. Not just to figure out what we want, and what we are, but to be here while you needed a friend."

Stiles felt very vulnerable and very seen. "I'm glad you're here," he said after a long moment of silence. "This is easier with you here. Everything is in flux, and no one is unaffected except you. I understand the concept of anchors better now." 

"I'm not unaffected," Jackson said. "I'm just less affected."

The silence returned and the werewolf started to shift and get up. 

"Stay," Stiles said into the barely lit room, and he saw the outline of Jackson stop what he was doing and turn to look at him, the pale hint of charged blue in his eyes.

"You're sure?' 

"Yes," Stiles said, completely sure of this one thing. "Stay." 

Jackson did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /blinks/
> 
> Did you expect me to slow burn that longer?   
> No.   
> There’s legit reasons to slow burn Sterek. But Stackson? Those reasons aren’t there unless they’re being stupider than usual, and I don’t write stupid very well.   
> So there’s a lot of ‘talk talk talk’ in this chapter, and again in 7. But if you’re waiting for action, well, chapter 8 is coming.   
> But first a plot thread you’ve all thought I forgot needs to get resolved in an unexpected way. 
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments, I’ve enjoyed all of them and I love seeing what you all are reacting to. See you again soon with chapter 7!


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles woke up hot and soaked with sweat, thinking he had a fever for a few moments until he realized that he just had a burning hot werewolf wrapped around him. 

He pushed the comforter off of him a bit to let cooler air in and felt Jackson start to wake up behind him. 

"Why is it that everyone I know is, or has dated a werewolf and no one besides me seems to complain that waking up with one is like waking up in an oven?" Stiles complained, snuggling further back into Jackson despite his complaint. 

"Shut up," Jackson said with a small groan. "What time is it?" 

"Before eight," Stiles said. "My alarm hasn't gone off yet."

The alarm picked that exact moment to go off. 

"So there's your answer, it's eight," Stiles said, turning it off.

"Go take a shower," Jackson said, rolling over on his back. 

"Does my smell gross out your little wolfie nose?" Stiles said with a laugh. 

"No, your smell is distracting to my little wolfie nose you asshole," Jackson said with a smile, eyes closed. "So go shower. And maybe I'll have breakfast ready when you're done." 

"Fine," Stiles said, propelling himself out of bed. "But there better be bacon." 

"Only if someone went to the store," Jackson said, "Because I didn't." 

"Ugh," Stiles said, grabbing clean underwear and socks out of a drawer. "Fine." 

He took his time in the bathroom, shaving before he got in the shower and then just enjoying the feel of the hot water, and thinking about the night. He'd expected Jackson to be different than that. Faster, more careless about his strength, less thorough in making sure Stiles was enjoying himself. Something. 

He got out and got dressed, putting on a clean t-shirt and track pants since he knew he'd need to put on his suit after he ate. Then he wandered down the stairs and into the kitchen. 

"Derek and Braeden are already gone, and you're in luck, someone did go to the store," Jackson said. "The fridge is stuffed full of food. Like two of everything. I'm pretty sure I even saw kale in there." 

"Who buys kale?" Stiles said. 

"Peter, apparently," Jackson said, pointing at his nose.

"Of course he does," Stiles grumbled. He took the plate of eggs and bacon Jackson handed him, and shoveled some food into his mouth. "He can't bother to show up for a meeting but he goes to the grocery store in the middle of the night and sneaks in and stocks my fridge." 

"You can't have expected him to be a typical alpha," Jackson said, "but he's still got the impulses. It's going to show up." 

"What?" Stiles said, and then added, "Also, these eggs are perfect." 

"The urge to take care of the pack," Jackson said, his ears pinking slightly. "Did you never notice it with Scott?" 

"Not really?" Stiles said. "Like he mostly focused on keeping us alive and not failing chemistry." 

"That's part of it too," Jackson said, "but it's a pretty deep instinct with wolves, especially born ones, and even worse with alphas." 

"How did I not notice that?" Stiles said. 

"Well, your options are limited," Jackson said. "Derek never really had time to do more than try to keep anyone alive and ignore his trauma, and Scott—” Jackson stopped and shook his head.

"Scott what?" 

"Look, I know things were tough here. But Scott couldn't be bothered to make sure Liam had a fixed anchor in the months since he was bitten. There's a supermoon in a few days, and while my control is excellent, Liam is never going to be able to handle it. Scott was a teenager in over his head on the alpha front." 

"I mean, he's got that IED thing," Stiles said, somehow still loyal to Scott's memory.

"For bitten wolves, an anchor is how controlled the wolf is, not how controlled the human is," Jackson said. "Born wolves are different of course.”

"Someone's learned a lot while he's been in London," Stiles said. 

"The Maccon Pack in London is one of the oldest stable packs left in Europe after the purges," Jackson said. "I've met a lot of both kinds of wolf in the last year. And yes, I've learned a lot, like exactly how little I know." 

"Yeah, you off at werewolf finishing school, and I was here defending the homefront," Stiles said, leaning in for a kiss. 

Jackson held for a moment before smiling slightly and leaning into the kiss himself. 

"And since I didn't say it earlier, good morning," Stiles said almost shyly. 

Jackson broke away from him after a couple of minutes and took another bite. "No more distracting me," he said severely. "You need to be at the town hall on time." 

"Yeah," Stiles said, looking at the food he'd lost an appetite for. 

"Eat. You'll need it." 

Stiles nodded and absently pushed more food into his mouth, not really tasting it. The memorial service was going to be a public event, the Mayor of Beacon Hills and the Beacon Hills Chief of Police would be two of the speakers. He had only met the Mayor a few times, although his dad had worked closely with him, but he knew Mark, the police chief, because he’d been one of his dad’s deputies for several years, and they’d stayed close when he’d moved to the police bureau. 

The graveside service afterward would be private, the attendees limited to his dad's close friends, and his own. He'd invited both Melissa and Rafe McCall in the time before Scott's death, but he wasn't sure if they would attend, considering they were burying Scott the following day. 

After he was done, Jackson took the plate and pushed him towards the stairs so he could go get dressed. 

He dressed distractedly, until Jackson came in and pulled his tie off before retying it, and Stiles focused on him. "It was fine," Stiles said. 

"And now it's better," Jackson said. 

The drive across the bridge into downtown Beacon Hills felt strange, like the whole morning had felt slightly out of alignment.The way he'd sort of ignored his dad's death wasn't working in the face of the service and burial, and he kept sifting through memories of the man who'd shaped him and the hole his absence left in his life. 

It usually took time for people to see how profoundly similar he was to his dad, his ADHD and more aggressively confrontational manner obscured what everyone who got close to both of them eventually realized, and was obscured further by how much Stiles looked like his mother. But Stiles knew how much alike the two were, and had always taken a kind of comfort from it. Even when he didn't completely understand himself, his dad understood him. 

Today, that feeling was gone. His dad couldn't understand him since he was as gone as Stiles' mother, and even with his pack he felt alone in the world in a way he hadn’t, even when his mom died. It had been nine years since he lost her, and he’d missed her every day, but now with his dad gone too, it felt like a fresh wound. 

Jackson pulled into the parking building across from the town hall building and found one of the reserved parking spots for family, and Stiles got out and let Jackson guide him to the elevator to the ground floor. 

Across the street, one of the deputies told him where he could find Mark, who had done most of the organizing for the public event. Stiles rarely thought of his father as a public official, but he had been, and a deeply respected one at that.

Jackson stood with Stiles through it all, guiding him when he got lost in thought and reminding him who someone was when they approached him. Finally Jackson led him into the hall itself and up the aisle to the principal mourners row. Most of the row would be reserved for the deputies that had served with his dad, but he’d asked Jackson and Melissa to sit with him as well. 

He sat down, and Jackson sat next to him, and he let his mind start to drift again, thinking of his dad, and everything that was going on, and Jackson, and let go of time. 

He barely noticed anything until Melissa sat down on his other side. He looked at her grief-stricken face, then took her hand in his free hand and leaned in and thanked her for coming. He knew her sisters were in town, that her whole family was coming for the next day. 

"You'll sit with us tomorrow?" she asked him.

"Are you sure?" he said. 

"Yes," she said and he nodded. 

"Rafe said Gerard is dead," she said and he nodded, hating the lie he had to tell. 

"Yeah, it looks like whatever this thing is, it got him."

"Good," she said. "Has there been any trace of Chris?" 

"Not yet," Stiles said. "Derek caught his scent once. Malia thinks she found it too, but it was faint so she wasn't sure. He's gone to ground I think." 

"I know Scott was against vengeance," she said, "he felt it was better to try to save everyone." 

"If Chris was involved he won't be saved," Stiles said. "I'm not Scott. I don't—” he stopped, unsure what to say. 

"I know it's terrible," she said, "but I agree with you." 

"We'll find out the truth," he said. "We'll find him, just like Theo." 

"Rafe said he was seen in New Mexico a few days ago," Melissa said.

"He told me the same thing," Stiles said. "There's been no sign around here either." 

"Liam's dad told me that Derek turned Hayden's sister, the deputy," she said. "Is Derek the alpha again?" 

"No," Stiles said. "It seems to be a holdover of the way he gave up his power. It's Peter." 

"Peter?" she said, sounding horrified, "Peter Hale?" 

Stiles nodded. 

"He tried to kill my son just a few months ago!" she said, and as Stiles saw she was flipping to anger, he felt Jackson's grip on his left hand tighten, and his presence was a comfortable bedrock he could depend on. 

"He did," Stiles said, grounded by Jackson’s support. "There's no predicting where it'll go when an alpha dies, but I think we can all be thankful it didn't go to Liam right now." 

He hoped it would help to redirect her focus to Liam, since she’d grown to truly care about him. 

"That poor kid," she said, calming down, "to witness that—” she shook her head. 

"He's going to have a lot of grief and anger to work through," Stiles said. "I know you hate Peter, but Derek has already said he'll stick around to help Liam get fully under control, and Derek knows how to work through anger." 

She nodded, "I just miss him," she said, looking up at the large official photo of his dad on the stage, "I miss them both." 

"Me too." 

The service began and Stiles listened as the mayor and Mark the police chief talked about his dad's lifetime of service, about the lives he'd touched and the young officers he'd trained and the loyalty of his department during difficult times. 

When it was his turn, he got up and pulled the three small notecards he'd prepared to keep himself from going on tangents, and he spoke about the man as his father, about the darkness of his mother's loss, and how after some rocky times they'd grown closer together with her passing. He could hardly see the audience around his own tears, but he made it through his thoughts, and sat back down. 

Eventually it was over. 

The private graveside service was set for just before dusk, but first there was a reception planned at the community center across the street. Before he walked over he needed a moment to pull himself together, and Rafe, who'd been waiting in the entry area for them, showed Stiles and Melissa to a room off to the side where they could regroup, and Jackson slipped out to use the bathroom. 

Once they regained their composure, they made their way to the memorial reception. where a parade of people stood up and added their own stories, a dozen and then another dozen, until he lost track, endless threads creating the composite of the man's life. 

While people were talking, he slipped away from the center of things and found himself studying the crowd, as a steady stream of people continued to find him and add their memories and well wishes to the great stone's worth he already carried. 

There was a woman near the back who was studying the room as closely as he was. He didn't recognize her, but there was something about her that felt familiar, a prickling feeling of a memory he couldn't nail down. 

He turned away from watching her when Marin Morrell came up to him. 

"I left you a message," he said when he saw his former guidance counselor, "more than a week ago." 

"I was busy," she replied, "out of town." 

"Emissary business?"

"Eichen business, actually," she said, "We have a new patient. Curiously, while I was gone another of my patients went missing, immediately after one of my employees died while trying to kill him. Any chance you know something about that?"

"What an interesting coincidence," Stiles said. "Perhaps you'd have known more if you'd return phone calls." 

"I wasn't anywhere there was cell phone service," she replied. "And I see Peter is here today. I'm surprised Derek trusted him enough to keep him around." 

"He's been surprisingly helpful." He didn't miss the implication she made that she assumed Derek was the alpha again, and made a note to let her continue to assume that until he was sure she could be trusted.

"I'm sorry about Scott, however." She added, "I know you were close. There's some confusion as to who exactly was behind it." 

"There's no confusion," Stiles said. "There was a witness. It was Gerard." 

"That's one of the stories I heard," she said, glancing into the crowd. "But it seemed unlikely since he was near death last I heard." 

"Apparently Chris had a cure just waiting for the right time." 

"Golden wolfsbane. The purifier," she said with a nod. "I missed he had found the cure, let alone that he was back in town. Perhaps I should have returned your phone call last night." 

"There's been a lot going on." 

"More than you know," she replied, giving him an intense look. "Something is using the power of the currents for their own ends." 

"As I said a couple of times, you'd know about that if you had answered your calls." 

"You know who it is?"

"Do you?" 

"I have some suspicions, but I just got back last night. That's when I found out about your dad and Scott, and got your message." 

"Have you heard of the guys Valack calls the Dread Doctors?" he asked. 

"Please say it's not them," she said. When he nodded she sighed, "I was hoping it was anyone else but them again," she answered, looking around. "Why is Deucalion here?" 

"Peter went to see him. Sort of all hands in an emergency thing," Stiles replied. "That's how serious this all is." 

"Even if Derek was aware of everything the Société Immortaliste presence means, I'm surprised he would send Peter to Deucalion after everything that's happened. He's clearly finally growing up.” 

"That's their real name?" 

"That's what they call themselves," she said. "To outsiders they usually use the Society of Ouroboros." 

"Wonderful," he said. "Finally an actual name. It's terrible referring to the bad guy of the week by a cheesy 70s sci-fi sounding name." 

"It's far more serious than a villain of the week," she replied. "They are very very dangerous. Are you still in contact with your kitsune friend?" 

"Kira?" he said. "Yes." 

"It's imperative both she and her mother avoid Eichen while the Société Immortaliste are in town," she said. 

"She may have helped us remove Peter from there," he said. 

"I thought there was something in that escape that bore your stamp," she said, giving him an indecipherable look, "Did she go inside?" 

"No she was outside." 

"Then we're still fine," she said. "And keep the hellhound out of the building too, if you can." 

"You do seem remarkably well informed," he said. 

"I make my brother tell me more than he tells you," she said. 

"That must be nice." 

"It helps when you have something to bargain with," she said. "he doesn't have the same contacts in other places I do, so when he needs something he's forced to deal with me at times." 

"I'd like to have a conversation with you about him, but maybe not here," he said, eyeing her, but her concentration had shifted to someone else. 

"What is she doing here?" Morrell said, looking at the old woman who'd caught his eye earlier, and who was now looking over the photo collage of his father's life that took up one wall. 

"I noticed her a few minutes ago. Who is she?" Stiles asked. 

"Agatha Winters," Morrell said. 

"That sounds like a fake name." 

"I'm certain it is, but finding out information about her is surprisingly hard," Morrell replied. "She appeared out of nowhere and took over the Winters hunting family a couple of decades ago. The commonly held theory is that she's American, from the west coast, and she is utterly ruthless."

"Winters?" Stiles said. "The ones in Canada?" 

"That's them." 

"Could she be here because of the Argents?" 

"No. Not unless she is coming to congratulate whoever killed Gerard. She loathed him." 

"Well that sounds like good taste," he said. "I don't know anything about her." 

"There's a lot to know. We should talk," she said, "and compare notes. I know my brother is still out of town." 

"Have you talked to him?" he asked. 

"He left me a message yesterday, he thinks he'll be gone a few more days at least, but he found something in his search." 

"Does he know about Scott?" 

"He didn't say," she said. "Why?" 

"His funeral is tomorrow," Stiles said, having learned long ago how to lie to those who can detect falsehood. 

"I'm afraid he won't be back in time," she said, and patted his arm, starting to move off on a collision course with the former alpha of alphas. "I'll call you this evening so we can talk." 

"Call later," he said. "We'll be at the graveside at dusk." 

She nodded and kept going, and he turned his attention back to the crowd, and realized he'd lost track of Agatha Winters in the process.

"I was surprised to not see Elias here," A voice said from behind him as he searched the crowd, and he turned in surprise and found himself speaking to the woman herself.

"You know my grandfather?" 

"I was married to him for fifteen years," she replied calmly. "So yes, you could say I know him." 

"You're my grandmother." he said, finally recognizing why something had struck him about her features, he'd seen photos of her when she was much younger.

"Yes." 

"He's in a home," Stiles said. "Alzheimers." 

"Long may he suffer," she said, the look on her face was almost a challenge. "I came back since I suspected he'd be trying his hardest to get you under his control. He was always very fond of that, and I thought you might need assistance." 

"No. I got myself emancipated," he said, feeling weirdly detached in this surreal conversation. "Dad looked for you," he added, "But he didn't think to look in Canada."

"I didn't expect him to," she said. "You however seem to not have the same limitations." 

"Why'd you leave him here?" he asked, ignoring the implication of her words, but thrilling in that moment of knowing more than a hunter for once.

She pursed her lips. "That's a complicated answer," she said. "And there are too many ears in this room.”

"How long are you in town?" 

"I wasn't planning to stay long," she said. "Unless Elias was causing problems." 

"The Winters Clan is busy at this time of the year?" he asked, finally tipping his hand.

Her eyes drilled into him. "You're very well informed," she said, "but no, I just didn't think there would be much of a welcome for me here." 

"Even less than you think," he said, with a note of challenge, "but I'd like to understand. There was a lot dad didn't know." 

"Far more," she said, "There were—” she hesitated, "I had my reasons for leaving the way I did." 

"I don't disagree," he said. "It's just strange that you come back now, when you left without him."

She nodded. "True. I'm sure you'll be busy here. But perhaps we can grab a late dinner tonight? I find myself staying up later as I get older." 

"Around eight maybe?" he said. 

"I'm staying at the Fairmont down the street," she said. "I'll meet you in the bar. We won't be disturbed." 

"I'm only seventeen," he said. 

She smiled, "We won't be disturbed," she said with emphasis, and walked away. 

"Well that sounded interesting," Jackson said coming up behind him. "A dinner date with an older woman." 

"Don't be ridiculous," Stiles said, sliding backwards to lean slightly against the werewolf, "That was my grandmother." 

"Really?" Jackson said, sounding genuinely off guard.

"It's even more interesting if you caught my conversation with Morrell," he said.

"I missed that one too." 

"She's the head of the Winters Family in Canada," Stiles said. "Hunters." 

"Why can't you have any normal family members," Jackson muttered. "Maybe a dentist or a nice school teacher." 

"My grandfather was a schoolteacher," he pointed out.

"And I said ‘nice,’" Jackson replied. 

"Well, at least she hated Gerard?" Stiles said, “so that's a plus.” 

"The only good Hunter is a dead one," Jackson said. 

"I'm going to at least hear her out," Stiles said. "I'm pretty curious what she has to say." 

"Interesting family you have there," Peter said, coming up and joining them. "Far more interesting than the senile old man waiting to die." 

"Of course you've found him too," Stiles grumbled, only slightly annoyed. 

"I like to know things," Peter said unrepentantly. 

"So do I," Stiles replied. "And there's a lot I don't seem to. Like why Deucalion was here." 

"He was bringing me an update on answering my question," Peter replied.

"Jackson told me yesterday he said he didn't know anything about the Dread Doctors." 

"Or the Society of Ouroboros, as dear Marin has informed us, now that is helpful. That's a name I've heard of. And Jackson still needs to work on telling when someone is lying," Peter replied. "Deucalion didn't say he didn't know anything, he said he didn't know anything that could help us. Those aren't the same thing."

"So he changed his mind?" 

"No, I believe he told mostly the truth yesterday, but there's a lot of information available to an old and well known alpha. I believe he made a few calls. Someone will be bringing the information by this evening. He was here mostly as a show of respect, one pack to another." 

"Ugh," Stiles said. "I suppose it's too late to kill him." 

"Darling Stiles," Peter said with a smirk, "it's never too late to kill someone until they're dead." 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You see, you thought I wasn’t going to close out that plot bunny from part one but I hadn’t forgot. And obviously we’re not done with dear Agatha yet. Or her surprises.   
> Last night I was working on chapter 8 and I took the story in a whole new unexpected direction, so my wonderful and helpful outline became...  
> Useless.
> 
> Oh well. Que sera sera.  
> Wish me luck! 
> 
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated, and questions are great!


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles hung up on the group call after he finished filling Peter and Derek in on his planned meeting with his grandmother, and told them he was waiting to hear from Morrell, suspecting that Peter, at least, would be lurking in the area. He wasn't sure why he was so certain that Peter was keeping close tabs on him, but he had a nagging suspicion that he was. 

Stiles refused to ask outright. 

Derek and Braeden were planning to try to get closer to the building where Corinne and her Hunters were holed up. He shook his head to clear it, and looked at the time on his phone. He had just enough time to cross back into the city and get to the Fairmont by eight pm. 

He started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, the lights on the towers downtown gleaming in the water as he approached the bridge to cross the river. After the long day, his emotions were wrung out, and he had a hard time finding the beauty in the scenery as he normally did. 

He knew himself well enough to know he was avoiding Jackson. Not that the meetings weren't important, but he could have invited Jackson to come along, maybe not to meet his grandmother, but to the meeting with Morrell at least. Instead he'd made an excuse to leave him behind. 

He didn't know if it was a real need for some alone time, or just a desire for distance after the intensity of the night before and then the funeral. He wasn't even sure how to determine which it was.

He pulled into the Fairmont and parked near the entrance, glancing at the clock as he turned off the engine. 

It was 7:54pm. Right on time.

He went into the lobby and turned towards the bar. A large man who moved with an economy of movement that almost shouted martial arts training stopped him as he got to the entrance. 

"We're closed for the night," he said. Stiles opened his mouth to reply when a voice said, "It's fine Jacque. This is who I'm waiting for." 

The man turned his head and nodded, before moving out of the way for Stiles to pass inside where Agatha Winters was waiting for him. 

His grandmother. 

He slid into the booth where she was sitting sipping on a drink that was clear, something resting in it on a metal spear. He had no idea what it was. His familiarity with alcohol stopped with clear versus golden, vodka versus whiskey. 

"Hi," he said awkwardly. 

"So you're another Stiles," she said looking at him. "Named after your mother's father, Mieczysław."

"And you're Adelaine Stilinski, born Adelaine Taylor."

"Adelaine," she said with a smile coming over her face, a note of reverie in her voice, "That name's been dead for many many years. I'm Agatha now. A better woman. A better person." 

"I didn't realize that it worked as easily as changing your name," Stiles said. 

"You didn't?" She said. "Strange since you chose to be a Stiles like your father's family, instead of a Mieczyslaw like your mother's." 

He paused at her words, actually thinking it over. He barely remembered the origin of the nickname, but he'd heard his father tell the story enough times that it was a part of him. He'd had a hard time saying both his names when he was a kid, mangling his first name into something that sounded like Mischief enough that his mother had taken to calling him that name, and Stiles was all he could get out of his last name. 

He'd been Mischief as often as not until her death. Afterward, the part he remembered was how painful the old nickname was, and how he'd switched to Stiles to avoid it. Later his father had told him his own father had used the same nickname, and his grandfather as well. By that time the name had stuck and he felt so much like a Stiles, there had been no changing it. 

He nodded and said, "I get your point." 

"Probably not completely," she said before taking a sip and picking up her cocktail napkin from the table, "but you understand the beginning of it. You don't understand the weight that develops on a name. The weight of failures and disappointments and expectations. And then something happens and it's easier to just," she let the napkin fall, "let it go." 

"Because he broke your arm, or was there more to it than that?" 

"My arm?" she said, confused. "That was a month before I left. It wasn't even the first time, though it had been years." 

"Then what changed?" Stiles said. 

She was silent for a moment, tapping on the base of her glass, then she said, "Nothing changed. I’m not even sure why I stayed as long as I did. Elias was always a bad husband you know, even before the abuse started. But he had been getting worse for years. And earlier that year he had destroyed his career with an affair with that girl. At the same time Noah was becoming difficult. Angry and defiant over everything. Justifiably, but that's the situation I was in. And then after the broken arm I realized I was pregnant." 

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. This was the last thing he'd expected to hear.

"It was very early," she said, "and Elias had long since given up on thinking I'd ever get pregnant again. We'd tried for years to have your father." 

"And I couldn't do it anymore," She said simply. "So I decided to go. I had a few hundred dollars in an old account from when I was young that Elias had never known about, and I took that and I just left." 

A lone waiter emerged from somewhere and brought them a pair of menus and asked Stiles what he'd like to drink. He was tempted to ask for whiskey, but a glance at his grandmother shot that down and he just ordered a Coke. 

"And so you became Agatha Winters," he said after the waiter left again. 

"Oh not yet," she said, "No. First my Deborah was born. I was living in Michigan, with the sister of an old high school friend who was sympathetic to my situation. And she introduced me to the woman whose name I took, Agatha Hart." 

"What happened to the real Agatha?" he asked. 

"You know I'm a hunter, so you know about the supernatural," she said. "Agatha was killed by a werewolf. That was my first involvement in the supernatural world." 

He nodded, "And that's how you discovered hunters." 

"I wanted revenge," she said harshly. "Agatha was a wonderful friend with a very bad husband, like my own. But her solution was simpler. She became a widow." 

"Sounds like a good solution." 

"Unfortunately, his family, who she'd always said was strange, were strange and supernatural. He was human, they were not. His brother decided to take revenge for his death."

"And then you decided to take revenge for hers," he said with a nod.

"Not for many years," she said. "He taunted me with it, said 'who is going to believe you' when I said I'd report him. But eventually I met Ian, who did believe me. And who told me about his family and how they stopped the monsters. The Winters. That pack was the first I helped exterminate." 

"Charming," he said, "You killed a whole family for one man's murder." 

"One son was a wife beater, another a killer. They needed to be put down," she said. "I'd do the same thing again."

"Yeah, you've lost my sympathy now," he said. 

"Someone has to make the hard choices when it comes to real monsters," she said. "But perhaps you're right. Deborah certainly agrees with you. But even from my perspective now, it seemed both justified and necessary. I don't kill indiscriminately, but I do cull what needs culling." 

"Does she live in Calgary too?" he asked. 

"Deborah?" she said. "No, she lives in Ontario with her family. We only see each other on occasion. She's closer to Ian than to me. She disapproves of the killing." 

He nodded. "And you never thought to come back for my dad?"

"By the time Ian and I were married Noah had joined the Army and not long after that he met your mother. It seemed better to let sleeping dogs lie." 

Stiles started to respond when his phone rang, and he glanced at it, "My apologies," he said to his grandmother, "I need to take this, it'll be quick." 

"Of course," she said with a smile, and he stepped out into the lobby to answer it.

"Stiles," Ms. Morrell said, "I'm going to be stuck here this evening. My new patient isn't settling in very well. I was wondering if it would be possible for you to stop by later, around ten or maybe a little earlier perhaps?"

A chill went up Stiles back as he thought of Eichen, but he said, "Of course. I'll be there." 

"Perfect," she replied, "I'll see you then," and hung up.

When he got back to the table, Agatha looked at him and said, "I'm assuming that was a friend checking up on you?" 

"My therapist actually," he said. 

"Ah, of course," she replied, and he could see she didn't believe him. 

The waiter came out with his Coke and took their order, he let the silence hang for a time after the man left, and finally asked a question that had him curious. 

"So why did you hate Gerard?" he asked. 

"Argent?" she said, her eyes growing colder. 

"Yes." 

"He's a snake," she replied, "Untrustworthy and deceptive." 

"Well yes," he said, "But he didn't worry about if supes had killed someone personally either, just 'kill em all and let god send em to hell,’ he seems like your kind of guy." 

"Argent is a blight on humanity," she replied. "Someday I look forward to hearing confirmation he's dead."

"Well," he replied, "then I do have good news for you."

"Yes, I've heard he's been presumed dead for more than a year now," she tapped her glass towards the waiter meaningfully, and he nodded, "but no one has seen him dead." 

"No, he wasn't dead then," Stiles said, "but I saw him dead myself." 

"Actually Gerard?" she said, "Or a deeply decomposed body you were told was his?" 

"Actually Gerard," he said, "We've been having a bit of a supernatural problem, one of them got him. I made sureit was him.”

"Yes, the world knows about Beacon Hills," she said. "But the Calaveras have been very vocal about letting it be for now." 

Stiles remembered the Calaveras and repressed a shiver. "Yeah, there's a bit of an agreement in place with the Calaveras," he admitted.

"Araya isn't the safe ally you might be thinking," Agatha replied.

"I don't have any affection for her either," Stiles said. "She's almost as psycho as Gerard. But she seems to keep her word." 

"To the letter," Agatha said, "but not always the spirit." 

"Yeah, that sounds like most hunters to me," he answered.

"You betray your own kind to be an ally of the supernaturals," she replied. 

He snorted. "Clearly it's my destiny to be a disappointment to my grandparents," he said. "You call me a traitor and your husband calls me an abomination, and yet, I look at the two of you, one a mass murderer and the other a pedophile and I'm forced to ask myself, 'are these the opinions I care about?' and the answer is pretty easy, 'No.' Because I've learned that the real monsters look just like me. And apparently some of them are even my relatives. So maybe take your judgement and your psycho murderous ways and get the fuck back to Canada, and take your goons with you." 

He stood up as he was talking, and paused long enough to say, "I'm really glad you were too much of a coward to ever come see my dad, he'd have been ashamed to see what you were."

And he turned and swept back past the menacing thug, and back into the parking lot. 

He got in the 4Runner and slumped back into the seat, cursing himself. He'd gone with the intentions to form at least an agreement like the one with Araya, but instead he'd let his anger and grief trip him up. 

His phone rang and he pulled it out and glanced at it — Peter, of course. 

"Hi Peter," he said, answering.

"Did you enjoy that?" Peter asked. 

"You heard?" Stiles said. 

"I'm pretty sure people with even normal hearing heard that last part," Peter said, "but yes, I was listening in." 

"Do you need a ride back across the river?" he asked. 

"No, I have my car nearby," Peter said. "I thought I'd let you know before you beat yourself up too much that some of that at least was staged. She knew more than she let on, and was provoking you." 

"Why?" 

"To get information, I think," Peter said. "She's not saying much to her bodyguards, but she made a phone call immediately after you left that said things went 'according to plan.’" 

"Fantastic," he said, "Someone else with a plan." 

Stiles started the engine. 

"I'm going to stick around for a bit," Peter said, "Maybe I'll get lucky and hear something else. Derek is with Braeden and Jackson and Lydia are at Danny;s, so you're on your own with Morrell, unless you want to take Liam." 

"I'll see if he's available," Stiles said. 

"Good," Peter said, "If her brother is involved then I'm not sure if she's trustworthy." 

Stiles hung up and called Liam, putting it on Bluetooth while he pulled out and started back towards the river. 

Liam didn't answer, and he left a voicemail, then hung up and drove in solitary silence.

\-------------

The waxing moon was on the edge of the horizon when Stiles got to Eichen and walked in. Bits of memory from his time there and the night they'd broken Peter out flashed through his mind. 

At the front desk, a suspicious nurse greeted him and looked him over skeptically when he said he had an appointment with Dr. Morrell, but gave him directions to her office down the hall and buzzed him through.

When the door clanged shut behind him and locked, he felt a shiver of fear creep up his back. The sound made him wish that he had someone at his back, even Liam. 

He found the door to Morrell's office, one he vaguely remembered had once belonged to Fenris. 

"Hello Stiles," she said, giving him a long calculated look he remembered so well. 

"Dr. Morrell," he said. 

She raised an eyebrow slightly, "How formal. I think you can just call me Marin today." 

He smiled and sat down. 

"I've checked into what you told me," she said, "and it appears you're correct." 

"And I suspect that's a problem to both of us," he said, and then gambled, "Considering what you have sitting in your basement." 

"What do you know about what's in my basement?" she asked him. 

He almost smiled, he knew there was something the Dread Doctors wanted at Eichen. 

"It's why you wanted to make sure neither of the kitsune come here," he said, Lydia's theory from what Morrell had said earlier, but he agreed with her assessment, "the foxfire will blow out your wards." 

"No defense is perfect," she said. "How do you know about the specimen?" 

"Valack," he said. "He knows a lot. He sees a lot. And he wants out very badly." 

"I don't think you're foolish enough to help him," she said calmly. 

"I may not have any choice," he said. "The löwenmensch is killing people, it's probably killing people right now, and what are you doing to help?" 

"Druids work to preserve the balance," she said, shifting in her seat, "we don't fight. We don't interfere." 

"Oh fuck that,” he said, annoyed with her, "All you do is interfere. Hiding away knowledge, twisting events to suit your little games. Calling it a balance when it's really just about what serves you." 

She gave him a small tight smile, "You don't have the slightest idea what I do—” she started to say, and he interrupted her again. 

"Fuck that too," he said. "So you sent Braeden in to rescue Isaac, but you could have stopped the alphas with one fucking line of mountain ash and some wolfsbane. And your brother was fine with sacrificing Laura for what she knew about the fire, and Derek to engineer the rise of a True Alpha. Don't think I don't see what you two have been up to. It's all about power and games with both of you." 

She froze for a moment, then said, "You don't see what you think you see," but there was a note of hesitance to her words, like she was thinking something over. 

"You didn't know," he said softly when he saw the look on her face. "You didn't realize what your brother has been up to." 

"You don't understand the oath we take," she said. "The limits on our actions." 

"To preserve the balance and serve as the objective eye of the pack," he said. 

"And to not act against the interests of the alpha," she said, looking at him closely. "My brother couldn't have acted against a Hale alpha without breaking his oath."

"He did. I know for a fact he worked out a plan with Scott when Gerard first came to town, and it required sacrificing Derek for it to work." Stiles paused, "He let the kanima continue to kill to create more chaos, though a line of mountain ash around Lydia or Jackson's house would have revealed which was the kanima. He just kept letting people die." 

"You're saying he broke his oath," she said. 

"And I don't think it was the only time," Stiles said. "Laura was slow that night, for some reason unable to fend off one feral omega who'd been in a coma for years. Why? Even if she was surprised she should have had no problem. You know how strong an alpha is, how hard to kill. The only people who knew she was in town were Deaton and the ones who drew her back." 

"Peter," she said, "and the nurse." 

"No," Stiles said. "Jennifer didn't even start at the home until a month before Laura's death. The dead deer started to appear months before that. It was the Argents. When dad was closing the casework on the fire, he found hotel receipts from Kate's visits to town. Several of them matched up with the dead deer that were found." 

"What are you saying?" she asked. 

"Who was counseling against working with the alphas to stop the Argents?" Stiles said, "Who was sowing distrust but non-intervention?"

"You think my brother was behind the fire?" she said. 

"No, I think he just didn't stop it," he replied. 

"Why?" she asked him, "If you're correct, why?" 

"I'm not sure," he admitted, "there's some part of it I'm not seeing. But as soon as I found that map of the ley lines in his office, and found out Scott's werewolf eyes could see the nemeton, I knew he couldn't be trusted. There was never a need for that surrogate sacrifice." 

"What are you talking about?" she said, "What surrogate sacrifice?" 

"How do you not—” he paused, "When Jennifer Blake kidnapped our parents. She had already sacrificed the virgins and warriors, healers and philosophers, all she needed were guardians. So she took my dad, Scott's mom, and Allison's dad for the final sacrifices. You said to find the nemeton and we'd find her. And Deaton was sure she was keeping them at the nemeton for the final sacrifice, but it could hide itself."

"I told Scott to go and find it," she said, "that if he found it, he'd find her. He was an alpha." 

"He was an idiot! He went right to Deaton for help," Stiles said, "and his help was to drown us to help us locate our parents." 

"So when you died, the ritual was completed," she said, putting it together. "Re-empowering the nemeton. You three were the guardian sacrifices. Protectors. And my brother—” She shook her head, "No. You have to be wrong." She was quiet for a long moment, and a tear streaked down her cheek, "No, you're not." She closed her eyes and slowly shook her head for a moment. "That bastard," she whispered.

"You know why he did it," Stiles said. "Why I have this darkness in me that grows and grows." 

"He stole the power of the sacrifice. Fueled it with the power of a spark and a True Alpha, and now you're the last one alive," she said nodding, then froze, looking at him, "Oh god, I see it now. He'll be after you next." 

"What?" he said, completely derailed. "What are you talking about?"

"My brother," she said, "I see what he's doing. He's not just after power, he's going to make himself a god." 

"What?" 

"Do you realize the amount of power the nemeton protects? It's the center of this whole confluence. Your sacrifices created a doorway to that power for him. And the Immortalistes have unintentionally brought him a löwenmensch to make him immortal." 

"What?" he said again, trying to catch up.

"You hadn't made it that far?" she said bitterly. "He's played us all." She reached behind him and pulled out a book titled 'The Confluences' and flipped it open. 

"This is why the nemeton was sealed in the first place." she said. "A confluence is a place where probability breaks down slightly. The telluric currents rise to the surface and re-energize the ley lines. In ancient times powerful spirits were found in such places. But sorcerers have been trying to steal that power once they figured out how. Genius loci, they call the ones who succeed, 'the spirit of a place', Indistinguishable from those old spirits. But the ones who seized that power like this, they're monsters. The convergence points in the old world were closed off by the druids long ago. But here, there's still some that aren't completely protected yet." 

"Including Beacon Hills," Stiles said, catching on. 

"Especially Beacon Hills." she replied nodding. "Our family spent two generations working with the packs here to protect the lesser convergences, and sacrificed themselves to seal off the nemeton. And now he's wasted all that sacrifice to seize the power for himself?" She gripped the edge of her desk. "I'm a fool to have not seen it before." 

"Why wouldn't you trust him?" Stiles said, thinking of Scott as he said it. "He's your brother." 

"We need to stop him from capturing the löwenmensch," she replied, looking at him. "And we can't trust that he's actually gone." 

"He's not," Stiles said, "he's here." He flushed slightly, "I wasn't sure if you were working with him, but we think he's working with the Desert Wolf." 

"Corinne?" she said. "Yes, I can see why she'd be working with him. She's been trying to get her hands on her daughter since she was born." 

"Why?" 

"When Malia was born she half-shifted. Coyotes are different from wolves, they are shifters from birth. But she clawed into Corinne, stole some of her power, which is a talent she gets from the wolf shifter side. Wolf/Coyote hybrids are like that, they get gifts from both parents. That extra power is why she can full shift. But that stolen strength weakened Corinne badly. She wants what was stolen back, and she thinks if she kills Malia it'll return." 

"That's why she keeps trying to kill her own daughter?" 

Morrell nodded. "That's it. But we need to focus on the bigger picture. We need to keep my brother from getting his hands on that löwenmensch."

"We think it's like the other chimeras the Dread Doctors—” he paused, "the Immortalistes created. Some genetic chimera that they grafted the löwenmensch powers onto, not a true löwenmensch." 

"Yes. That's the direction they've been going for some time. They missed out on one in Germany in World War II, the last one, some think. Rumor has it they secured a sample of his remains, but all their efforts to replicate him have been failures." 

"Not anymore," Stiles said. "It matches the description of the Beast of Gevaudan, which doesn't seem like any werewolf I've ever heard of, so we thought it might be a löwenmensch too." 

"Yes, it was a löwenmensch," she said. "The Argents referred to all shifters as werewolves for most of the first century after they started hunting, which created a lot of confusion. "

"So they've got their löwenmensch," he said. "What are they waiting for?" 

"We're missing something." she said. "Let me reach out to a few people."

"If you can figure out any way to identify who the löwenmensch is, that might be helpful too." He stood up, ready to go.

"Come back and see me tomorrow night," she said. "I'll try to find some more answers. And if you see my brother in the meantime, my advice is to run." 

He looked at the seriousness on her face and nodded, before he turned and left.

\--------

Stiles drove directionless for a while, stunned by the night's revelations. 

He just felt like he needed a little space to breathe. It had all been so much. The whole day. And now the whole board had been reordered yet again, and he still couldn't see how all the pieces fit together. Was Deaton truly the opposing king? Or was there someone else? It made him reconsider the opposition he knew of. Chris Argent? No. Chris was clearly a pawn in the game. Gerard's first for most of his life, and then Victoria and Kate's. Corinne's motives were easy now that he understood them, and there was nothing in her history to suggest that she was anything other than an opportunist and a killer. He wondered about Morrell, but it didn't fit. She had told Scott to find the nemeton, which she wouldn't have done if she was working with Deaton. He tentatively accepted that she was likely being honest. 

Gerard seemed likely but he was dead. Stiles was sure of it. Peter had killed him as ruthlessly as he'd once killed the man's daughter.

His thoughts slowed, caught on the trap of that idea. 

Peter. 

Peter who loved power. Who had mysteriously survived the fire. Who'd killed Laura under strange circumstances. If his idea was right, Peter had done a remarkably effective job of silencing anyone who might have known about his involvement in the fire. And Peter had been strangely absent since his return to town.  The pieces fell together in such a compelling pattern. 

It all fit, but— 

But something made him hesitate and ask: did he really think Peter could truly be the opposing king?

He didn't know. 

\------------

Jackson, perhaps catching on that Stiles needed some space, or maybe needing some himself, had texted that he was going to be staying at Danny's. Exhausted, Stiles ate something from the kitchen and fell into his bed, desperate for sleep. 

He had barely fallen asleep when he felt himself waking back up, the glow of the moonlight illuminating his surroundings, and he realized he was in the forest somewhere. He flailed to his feet and looked around. Not far away the nemeton sat, though in the dark it had a strangely majestic appearance and was wreathed in spectral flames. 

"Stiles?" a familiar voice said behind him, and he turned to see Lydia not far away. 

"Lyds," he said, "What are we doing here?" 

"You're in my dream," she said softly. 

He remembered her telling him about her dreams, but it felt like the memory was coming from far away. "Right," he said, looking around. "Are they always so real?" 

"Yes," she replied, coming to stand next to him. "I've been waiting for you to get here. It's different tonight." 

"What's different?" he said, looking around, trying to remember the specifics of her dream.

"The bodies are gone," she replied. "And there's no Parrish." 

He took a step closer to the half present flames, heatless and fuelless, then took another step. 

"Don't get too close," a new voice said, "This fire can burn you.” 

He turned to see Meredith had appeared, looking right at him. 

"It's almost too late," she said. "You've waited too long." 

"Too long for what?" Stiles said.

"Too long for all of us. The moon rises, and soon the dead will too. Death is the key and the door." 

"What does that mean?" Lydia said, moving towards Meredith. 

"Meredith, what's going on?" Stiles said. 

Meredith looked around and whispered, "If you don't steal the moonlight from him we're all doomed." 

"What does that mean?" Lydia said.

"Syzygy is the time," Meredith said, reaching out towards Lydia, "You must close the door." And then the second banshee faded away, leaving Stiles and Lydia behind.

"What's that mean?" Stiles said. 

"The moment the full moon is at its peak," Lydia said. "Death is the door, and I must close it." 

"Death is the key too," Stiles said, his thoughts slow. 

"My scream," Lydia said. "I think she means my scream." 

"It's the frequency," Stiles said, everything finally falling into place, "Your scream." 

"Death is the key," she whispered. "They have another banshee." 

"Meredith," Stiles said. "They have Meredith." 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, sometimes I think you all think I put things in without knowing for sure how it’s all connected and just make up the ending.   
> Maybe you’re right.   
> Or maybe it does all fit together.   
> :-)
> 
> Comments, kudos and questions are awesome.


	9. Chapter 9

Scott's funeral was in the afternoon, so Sunday morning Stiles woke up to the smell of food cooking and went downstairs to find Derek in the kitchen. 

"Hey," he said, "how'd last night go?" 

"Deaton's definitely there," Derek said. "I heard his voice a couple of times when we got close." 

"Overhear anything interesting?" 

"Not particularly," Derek said. "He was talking about needing to wait another night, and he said something about the supermoon and the nemeton. How was dinner with the grandmother?" 

"Yeah, nothing good there," Stiles said. "I think she's more like the Calaveras than the Argents, but it's all just degrees of evil, you know?" 

"I know, yeah." Derek said, a familiar deadpan hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Can I ask you about something?" Stiles said, and Derek turned to look at him fully.

"Can anything stop you?"

"It's just—" Stiles hesitated. "I like Jackson. Like, sort of a lot. But last night, I just wanted to get away from him, you know? Not just him, it was everyone. But I just feel—” he stopped again, not sure how to finish. 

"You wonder about how you can like someone and not want to be around him all the time?" 

"Yeah," Stiles said, relieved.

"Not everyone is Scott, Stiles," Derek said. "Some people need space to process, to get away from everything, and just figure shit out on your own." 

"Brooding," Stiles said. 

"If you want to call it that," Derek said. "Or it's just a way to figure out what's in your own head when there's not a bunch of people around asking you what you're feeling all the time." 

"I guess," Stiles said. "I just don't want him to think it's him. It's just me." 

"Then tell him that," Derek said. 

"That's helpful," Stiles muttered as Derek handed him a plate of food.

"I mean it," Derek said. "It's something I struggle with. Telling Braeden things like that. And it might create problems if he doesn't understand, but those problems were going to show up anyway. This way he at least knows that it's not about him." 

"You're pretty smart, Hale," Stiles said, thinking about it.

"There's only room around here for one idiot, and you've got that locked up," Derek said, grabbing his own plate and following him to the table. 

"Where's Braeden?" Stiles asked after a moment. 

"Meeting a contact," Derek said with a shrug. "She doesn't always share things easily either." 

"Do you think Peter might be involved with the death of your family?" The question Stiles had been fixated on, finally came out. 

Derek dropped his fork on the plate and stared at him. 

"So I went to see Morrell," Stiles said hurriedly, and recounted the quickest version of events the night before, "and I just keep thinking, 'what if it's Peter', you know?" 

Derek stared at him for a long moment after he stopped talking and then closed his hands into fists. Stiles could see the tension in the man's body as he fought to control himself, and waited silently as Derek got control. 

"No," Derek said finally, as he un-balled his fists, specks of blood visible. "No. Peter is Peter. He's sneaky and undependable and absolutely not to be trusted in most situations. But he loved the family. He loved the pack. Fiercely. I can't forgive him about Laura, I just can't. But I know he wasn't in his right mind."

"You're sure?" Stiles whispered.

"I am," Derek said, "I'm staking my life on it. All of our lives really." 

"I just—” Stiles started.

"It fits," Derek said. "Your theory, it does fit. But my gut says no. What does yours say?" 

"Also no," Stiles said. "It's sort of the opposite of Theo. With him I had no evidence, but my gut said he was the bad guy, here, it's my mind seeing the evidence, but my gut thinks no." 

"Go with your gut," Derek said. "Logic can blind you, but your gut is just your brain telling you things your mind hasn't put together." 

"Dad said to follow the evidence," Stiles said sadly.

"Following the evidence must have worked out better for him than it did for me," Derek replied and dug back into his food.

Before Stiles could respond, someone knocked on the door and before Derek could even say who it was the door burst open and Lydia walked in. 

"Stiles," she said, looking at him, and the dream from the night before roared back into his memory. 

"It wasn't a dream was it?" he said to her, his voice shaking. 

"I'm not sure what it was," she said. "Vision, dream, something. But you remember?" 

"I do now," he said. "Meredith. They have her." 

"Death is the key and the door." 

"And she said I need to steal the moonlight," Stiles said, remembering. "Whatever that means." 

"What are you talking about?" Derek said. 

"We had a vision," Stiles said, looking anywhere but at the werewolf. "We were at the nemeton, and it was on fire."

“I've been dreaming about it for the last couple of weeks," Lydia said. "About Parrish bringing bodies to the nemeton, they were all on fire, all of the Dread Doctors victims I think. Then a few nights ago Meredith appeared in the dream, and told me 'death was the key and the door'."

"But she didn't explain?" Derek said.

"No, I woke up," Lydia answered. "But there was a figure I could see across the fire, dark and hard to see, a raven with the moon in its beak flying away."

"And you shared these visions?" Derek said, looking at Stiles. "And didn't tell anyone?"

"Just last night," Stiles said. "And I forgot until I saw Lydia. I remember Meredith was there. But this time she said we'd waited too long. That the moon was rising and—” he hesitated, unsure of her exact words.

“— and that the dead would rise with it," Lydia finished. "Then she said the thing about death being the key and the door, and syzygy was the time."

"What does this have to do with the Dread Doctors and Malia's mother?" Derek said. 

"Deaton," Stiles said. "He's the other king. He has to be. The Dread Doctors are working for him, or with him. Morrell said he's trying to steal the power of the nemeton, to make himself like almost a god." 

"A god?" Lydia said.

"A genius loci," Derek filled in for her, Stiles having told Peter and him the night before. "Stealing the power of the convergence for himself, and having a löwenmensch on hand to extend his life forever if he wants." 

"But what's so important about syzygy?" Derek said. 

"The supermoon will pull even stronger on the currents," Stiles said, remembering Danny's notes on the subject. "Which pours power into the ley lines through the nemeton and the lesser convergence sites, it's a time of particular occult power." 

"But how is he planning to harness the power of the nemeton?" Lydia said. "That's the part I don't see." 

Stiles was still caught up in visualizing the chess board, plotting in Deaton as the opposing king, and looked up startled, "I think he's one of the doctors," he said. "He's been working with them all along I bet." 

"That would explain why they keep coming here," Lydia said. "They have an ally and there's that stupid tree in the woods." 

"What does that mean," Derek said, "to steal the moon?" 

"I think she means I need to steal the power so they can't use it," Stiles said, "and I have a plan for that. Kira and I are going to go back to the power station, and she's going to use the city's electric grid to create basically a counter-frequency to the frequency the convergence uses, which will interfere with the Doctors’ ability to phase, and whatever Deaton has planned for tonight." 

"You think Kira can do that?" Lydia said.

"I hope so," Stiles said. "I need a few minutes with Danny this morning, to get a lead on where I can get something made that might help, but yeah, I think it's doable, it's similar to what she did at Eichen." 

"I can pull Jackson aside after we get to the service," Lydia said. "That will give you the window you need." 

Derek nodded. "Does anyone know what Peter's been up to?" he said. 

"Just what he said last night," Stiles replied, "that he's working on backup to take down the Doctors and the Desert Wolf." 

"I hate when he's secretive," Derek said. 

"We all do," Lydia replied. 

\--------

Jackson arrived with Danny and came right up to Stiles and gave him a kiss, and Stiles melted into it a bit.

Danny was smiling when Jackson stepped back, and gave Stiles an approving look, before he said, "Does this mean you finally figured out you're attractive to gay guys?" 

"I'm still not sure, but the bi ones seem to like me fine," Stiles replied. "Or at least this one does, and that's what matters." 

"See, like I keep saying, I'm everyone's type, even yours." Then he leaned in and kissed Stiles again, whose brain went into overdrive, just as it had the other night.

"Thank god you finally figured it out," Lydia said to Stiles. 

"I mean, I've had it figured out for a while," Stiles said. "There's just been, like, other things going on." 

"Murder, monsters, the usual horror show; but I still feel very out of the loop that I'm just finding out the two of you have figured things out," Lydia said. 

"I mean, not quite all the talking parts," Stiles said, very aware that he was blushing slightly. 

"That's the hard part,” Danny said. "Sex is easy." 

"Oh my god," Stiles said, "we are not talking about my sex life right now." 

"I can remember several times you talking about it publicly in the locker room," Danny said. "How is this different?" 

"Because, that was about my lack of a sex life, not its—" he hesitated and glanced at Jackson, "reality." 

"Jackson," Lydia said, tugging at the werewolf, "I do want to talk to you for a moment." Jackson, as he ever had, followed the banshee's urging, leaving Stiles alone with Danny, which had been part of their plan. 

"So, Danny," Stiles said. 

"No," Danny said, "I told you I'm not getting involved." 

"This isn't getting involved exactly," Stiles said. "I just need a thing made and I thought you might know where I could get it done quickly." 

Danny sighed and turned to him, "Fine. What do you need?" 

"I need a small machine that will emit a specific frequency that would interfere with the energy at the convergence site," Stiles said. 

Danny looked at him blankly, and Stiles explained what he had in mind again, in more detail.

"So you don't need it to be strong enough to interfere, just to provide a pattern. For someone else to replicate." 

"Right," Stiles said, "like those things that musicians use to keep a beat." 

"A metronome," Danny said. "Yeah, I could do that actually. That's pretty easy, and I probably have everything I need at my parents. When do you need it?" 

"Today," Stiles admitted, "Well, tonight before moonrise." 

"I can do that," Danny said with a sigh.

"Thank you," Stiles said, "I know you don't want to be involved, but this may literally save lives." 

Danny nodded and stepped away and back into the conversation between Lydia and Jackson, who gave him a long look as he talked and smiled.

Liam and Mason arrived then, Liam walking behind his friend, and looking a little lost. Stiles realized that as difficult as this might be for him, it was probably almost as difficult for Liam, who'd become a werewolf only because of Scott. 

"I can't believe he's really gone," Liam said when he got next to Stiles. 

"Yeah," Stiles said, "It's weird to be here, burying him. He was like a brother to me most of my life, but when he died, we—” he left it hanging, unsure how to describe that void where a friendship had been.

"I can't imagine what it would be like if I lost Liam," Mason said, and Liam stepped in next to his friend and bumped shoulders with him. 

"It's the curse of only children," Lydia said, the group having shifted to include Liam and Mason. "We have to find that kind of bond with our friends."

"We are a lot of only children. I almost had a brother though," Mason said. "I wonder how that would have been different." 

"Your mom miscarried?" Liam said. "Was that before we met?" 

"No," Mason said, "I had a twin. I absorbed him in the womb. It happens sometimes I guess, but I always thought it was really creepy." 

"So part of you is like, your twin brother?" Liam said, looking Mason over closely, like he was trying to find the parts that would have been someone else.

"Not exactly, it happened way before that. But yeah, there's something of my brother still with me," Mason said. "Is that weird?" 

"No," Lydia said, a strange look on her face like she was deep in thought. "Biology is just like that sometimes." 

Stiles thought about what Mason had said, and Lydia's strange expression, and realized what she was reacting to— Mason was a chimera. A natural occuring one. There might be others like him, there might be— he caught Lydia's eyes and saw the same realization in them that he had. Mason, or someone else like him, might be the löwenmensch. 

\----------

The service was different from his dad's, smaller and more personal. The people who spoke, including Stiles, talked about Scott, not about his job or his place in the community, and that emphasis on the personal made it both more comforting and harder to bear in some ways. 

Afterward, Melissa stopped him as they both looked at the open casket where Scott lay almost appearing to sleep, though he was composed as he never actually was in his sleep, which ruined the illusion. 

"You were wrong," she said looking at the coffin. "What you said, about Scott not paying for his idealism. He did, in the end."

"This isn't what I meant. It's not what I wanted. We've all paid and paid. This town has become a well of death and suffering. But I'm going to try to end this all. I'm going to shut that fucking tree down if it kills me and I mean that." 

"That's too high a price," Melissa said. "I don't want to see you end up dead too." 

"Melissa, if it comes down to me or all the people who'll die if I don't, I will absolutely make that choice. This isn't some deathwish or anything, I want to live. I want us all to live. But if that's the choice, I'm taking it. If there's any other option, I'll take that instead. But this has to stop."

"How is this the world we live in?" 

"Because someone wanted power, and didn't care how they got it," Stiles said, thinking of Deaton and his lies. 

"You know something," she said. 

"I know a lot of things," Stiles replied. "But not everything, not yet."

"Was someone else involved with Scott's death besides Gerard?" she asked. 

"Liam said Gerard had a couple of hunters with him, Chris wasn't there," Stiles said. "We know he gave Gerard the cure, but I'm not sure he knew what Gerard intended." He hesitated, "But there's a bigger picture. Someone moving the Argents and the Hales like chess pieces. Scott too." 

"Do you know who it is?" she asked. 

"No," Stiles lied. "Not yet." 

"Stiles, you're a bad liar," she said, and he turned to look at her.

"I don't know," he answered. "Not for sure. There's someone I suspect, but there's other possibilities, less likely but—” He paused, "I don't want to eliminate the likeliest option when there might be more going on than I think." 

"What's your gut telling you?" she asked, echoing Derek’s question. 

"That it's who I think, but there's more I'm not seeing," he said. "Something's still not right." 

"You'll be careful?" she said, and he leveled a bitter half grin at her. 

"Why would I start now?" he said with a tone that sounded harsh even to his own ear.

She didn’t reply and they turned and he escorted her slowly towards the exit, Jackson following after them like a shadow. 

When they got outside, Rafe was on his phone and standing off to the side. Stiles had filled him in on some of what they suspected, though not about Stiles’ plan to cause a city-wide blackout. He was pretty sure the FBI would frown on that. 

He watched McCall's face, trying to decipher what was going on, as the man turned to stare at Stiles furiously while he finished his call. 

Confused, Stiles waited until McCall put down his phone, walked closer and hissed, "Would you care to tell me why a patrol officer just found Chris Argent's body in a parking garage downtown with his throat ripped out?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this chapter was a nightmare to finish, and for no good reason. Lol. But it’s done, and now.... onto the endgame. 
> 
> Thanks for your patience! The next chapter will likely take me over 400k published words. Craziness. Comments and kudos are lovely!

**Author's Note:**

> I am principally a Sterek writer, which WAM6996 knows, but even if I’m not shipping them together I do ship their friendship. For many of the reasons I like the Stiles and Jackson bro!tp usually. So this is a fun chance to mix up my usual ships.


End file.
